


A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Republican National Convention

by Sarai



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, Angst, Awkward Romance, Background Genya/David, Background Zoya/Nikolai, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Colm Fahey is the best parent, Drama, Dyslexia, F/M, Foster Care, Good Foster Parents, Grishaverse Big Bang 2019, Healing from trauma, M/M, Nicknames, Past Drug Addiction, Politics, References to Addiction, Romance, Stargazing, The 2020 Election, Trauma, dysgraphia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 115,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: Jesper and Wylan meet at a farmers’ convention and, long story short, they might have to overthrow the government.Jesper was supposed to spend spring break at Nina’s—then a joint turned up in his backpack and his da decided he was coming to the convention instead. He’s miserable and bored until a chance encounter with a shy artist. He never expected to meet someone sweet, gorgeous, and interested in him in the middle of Iowa.There’s just one tiny problem: Wylan’s father is nationally prominent and openly homophobic.Modern American politics AU -- you've been warned.
Relationships: Colm Fahey & Jesper Fahey, David Kostyk/Genya Safin, Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky, Zoya Nazyalensky & Nina Zenik
Comments: 351
Kudos: 274
Collections: Grishaverse Big Bang 2019





	1. Starbucks

**Author's Note:**

> This was written with help from the wonderful editing and beta-ing skills of @monomads @sixofass and @nightofviolet on tumblr, who are an amazingly supportive group and infinitely patient, and even managed not to curse my name (probably) the day I popped into the chat and announced I had accidentally written a novel. They also did everything they could to make the fic politically reasonable. Any extreme views are my own.
> 
> Our group also consisted of amazing artists [ravenclawsandbeak](https://ravenclawsandbeak.tumblr.com/post/189944782283/an-infinite-tragedy) [incredible-disasters](https://incredible-disasters.tumblr.com/post/189937994387/grishaverse-bigbang-a-funny-thing-happened-on-the) [lystacre](https://lystandthefandoms.tumblr.com/post/189945173705/grishaverse-bigbang-a-funny-thing-happened-on-the) and [plasticbattleaxe](https://plasticbattleaxe.tumblr.com/post/189970828356/an-infinite-tragedy). 
> 
> \------------------
> 
> **Trigger Warnings**
> 
> This story covers a lot of potentially upsetting ground including physical, emotional, and religious abuse; addiction/alcoholism; kidnapping; conversion therapy; miscarriages, abortion, and the politicization of women’s healthcare; suicidal thoughts and behaviors; homophobia; ableism; and election nights. (I’m not putting that in the be funny. Writing about election night was really difficult for me.) I will put a TW note at the top of each chapter that might be triggering for readers and will include a summary at the end of those chapters so you can still read the story without the triggering content if you so choose.
> 
> If you read a chapter that doesn’t have a TW and think it needs one, please tell me and I’ll add it ASAP. I delved into some difficult material in this story but it is not my intent to hurt anyone with it.
> 
> Finally, this story will feature Wylan receiving appropriate intervention services for his dyslexia. This is not a decision I made lightly and the decoding strategies he uses are real strategies used today. This is something I made every effort to handle respectfully and realistically.

JESPER

  
It all started with a joint—a single joint that wasn't even his, that he was only holding for a friend and seeing as he wasn't even friends with that guy anymore, Jesper Fahey was of the opinion that any consequences at all constituted an overreaction.  
  
He hadn't said that.  
  
He had said it wasn't his, but his da wasn't hearing a word of it. Didn't give Jesper a chance to explain himself, to point out his six months of sobriety and that he was different since leaving rehab.  
  
One joint that wasn't even his and Jesper lost any trust he had earned over the past six months. One joint that wasn't even his and instead of spending spring break with his friends, he was spending it at a farming convention. Even though it wasn't Jesper's. Even though he voluntarily took an over-the-counter drug test and proved he was sober. And, sure, he had also got himself a little over-involved in a couple of friendly card games back in December. He wasn't perfect by a far cry, but he wasn't using again.  
  
Part of him knew the smart thing to do was behave. Make a point of behaving. But he was bored and felt overwhelmingly stalled as he lay in the dark hotel room, listening to his da snore and staring at the steady light on the smoke detector until he just _couldn't_ .  
  
He pushed back the covers and slipped from the room.

Padding down the hallway, Jesper reflected that he probably should have worn his shoes. Or at least his socks. But going back for them risked waking Colm. Jesper had left a note, but he was fairly certain going down to the hotel lobby wasn’t allowed. Doing anything besides sitting in the room watching TV wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t even allowed to eat the stupid M&M’s in the mini-bar! He wished he could have texted Nina about the injustice, her response might have cheered him up, but he couldn't. His phone had been taken away.

Anyway, he didn’t want to worry Colm, who was clearly just as nervous as Jesper was frustrated. 

The elevator doors slid open with a _ding_ and a near-blinding light. Jesper blinked and squinted as he stepped inside—cold, _cold_ elevator floor! Cold!—and jabbed the button for the lobby. When they first arrived, he had been surprised by how non-partisan the lobby was; it seemed like every storefront back home had a poster in it reminding everyone that the election was just a few short months away. Maybe neutrality was a better business practice in Polk County, which tended to go blue by a narrow margin.

Just off the lobby was a cocktail lounge currently in the throes of a swanky, mildly raging party. There were an awful lot of suits in there, gingerly holding glasses of liquid fun. Maybe he could have snuck in, were he not wearing his track pants and a t-shirt sporting his school mascot (“Cornhuskers - Shuck ‘em!”). 

With a sigh, he resigned himself to Starbucks. Would they even serve him in this outfit? The two other patrons looked considerably more respectable. A big, suit-clad lump of blond muscle sat at one table. At another table sat—

Well, _hello_.

Did this convention just get a little less farmer and a lot more interesting? A dreamy-eyed boy about Jesper’s age sat there, face propped up on his fist with red-gold curls falling over his eyes. One look at those pale, barely-parted lips and Jesper knew he wanted to kiss them. But first thing’s first: he put a little swagger into his step. As he passed the pretty boy’s table, Jesper looked him in the eye, startling him, and winked. The boy turned a very promising shade of pink.

Jesper helped himself to a seat a few moments later.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, sitting there.

“Um… I… I…” the boy stammered, before turning his attention to the muscled lump at the next table. Lump looked about ready to punch one of them. “No—it’s fine. It’s fine. You can sit with me.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows. “How generous."

“I didn’t mean it that way." He was even prettier up close. There was something familiar about him, though Jesper couldn’t quite name what. He had a sketchbook in front of him and a tin of drawing pencils. Now that his fist wasn't propping up his face, he took one of the pencils, though he didn't draw anything, just passed it between his fingers. A red mark lingered on his cheek.

Jesper sipped his coffee. He wondered if Starbucks would be rolling out those "unity cups" again this year, the ones that everyone hated during the last election. It was only March now, so they were the regular cups… and his name had been misspelled.

 _Jasper_.

Freaking Twilight punk behind the counter…

“I’m sure you didn’t…” Jesper dropped his gaze to the pretty boy's cup, looking for his name. Waylon? Really? Jesper sincerely hoped the Twilight punk had miswritten that, no one their age was called _Waylon_. “…Mister Smithers.”

Pretty Boy was visibly confused, lips slightly parted and brow furrowed like this was life or death as he asked, “What?”

“Didn’t you look at your cup?” Jesper asked, like he hadn’t just only now noticed his own. Unless… “Your name’s not really Waylon, is it?”

Or had he never seen _The Simpsons_? That was the only incidence Jesper knew of where someone was actually named Waylon—Waylon Smithers, the assistant character in an increasingly transparent closet.

Pretty Boy burst out laughing. He was unfairly cute laughing. The worry smoothed out of his forehead and his eyes sparkled. A human being shouldn’t have eyes so blue! When he laughed hard enough to start snorting, Pretty Boy blushed and covered his mouth adorably. His eyes were so self-consciously wide, Jesper imagined he didn't even know he had dimples.

“S’okay, anyway. Mine says ‘Jasper’. Nice to meet you, Mister Smithers.” Jesper offered a hand.

Mister Smithers accepted the handshake, looked Jesper dead in the eye and said, “You too, Mister Hale.”

Jesper laughed. “I try being nice to someone and that’s what I get!” he cried. “That’s the last time I’m nice!”

“Bet it’s not,” Mister Smithers said.

Jesper couldn’t stop the way his eyebrow quirked in interest— _you bet? How much?_ But he stamped down the inclination. The poker incident was months behind him and he did not fancy a repeat.

Instead, he gave a determinedly confident scoff.

At home, a challenge like that would have been met, and he missed his friends all over again. Nina would have tried to make him be nicer—maybe by taking his cookies hostage at lunch. Or just making him laugh. Kaz would have rolled his eyes, sighed, or found another way to indicate he thought Jesper’s humor was stupid, but they both knew he could talk Jesper into any crazy thing. Kaz could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Mister Smithers was not Nina or Kaz, and looked momentarily unsure how to respond to Jesper. Jesper had hoped he might go for some aggressive flirting, but given how frequently he blushed, flirting might be more Jesper’s line of work here. That was okay. He just needed to find out if his attention was welcome. It wasn’t easy to resist Jesper Fahey, with his handsome face and sparkling personality—he would be the first to tell you—but some guys are just straight. Which would be tragic, because he felt like there was already a spark between them.

He could have asked. Instead, Jesper sipped his coffee. The whipped cream was starting to melt into it. While he drank, he kept his attention on Smithers. He looked less than at ease, his gaze mostly fixed on the pencil he was fidgeting between his fingers, glancing now and again to Jesper, then back to the pencil. 

Smithers cleared his throat. “So, uh, a-are you here for the convention?” he asked. Between that and the creamy linen of the button-down shirt tucked into his khakis, Jesper guessed this wasn't another farmer's son. A not insignificant portion of the convention was about trying to sell; Smithers didn't dress like someone who got his hands dirty.  
  
"I'm here with my da," Jesper said, "he mostly grows field corn. The past couple years he's been growing corn to be used as fuel." He slipped the heat sleeve off his cup and began picking it into little pieces.  
  
"Really?" Of course it was biofuel that got Smithers to set down his pencil and focus on Jesper. Hands folded on his sketchbook, fingers still from his knuckles to his bitten nails. "I didn't think biofuels were profitable."  
  
"They're not," Jesper admitted, "yet. There's a satellite campus of the university near where I live, Da works with them. He's only able to grow anything as biofuel because of their money."  
  
Was he really talking about biofuels right now, literally the least flirty thing on the planet? But Smithers was sitting up straight like an eager student, drinking in every word, so Jesper tried to remember more of what he'd heard.  
  
The trouble was that it kept coming back to money. He kept having to explain, and maybe it would have helped if the boy sitting across from him could stop with those bobble-head nods that made his curls flop over his eyes and the occasional slip of teeth over his lower lip as he really focused. Colm _couldn't_ afford to just grow an experimental fuel, though. That was very, very real for them.  
  
"Their legal department is like one guy," Jesper said, finding some, _any_ excuse to veer away from finances. "He's brilliant, though. He once—I swear this is true, he went into a meeting with… the governor's office, I think, to negotiate down a fine and talked them in circles so much _they_ ended up paying _him_ ."  
  
Smithers' eyebrows rose. No… not Smithers. Jesper didn't like that nickname for him anymore and bought time sipping his coffee. He liked his face. It was so expressive, the way his thin lips parted in shock, or his brow furrowed in confusion like everything Jesper said was important to understand, or that one time Jesper said Steve King's name and his nose scrunched so delicately.  
  
"Is that what you want to do? Be a lawyer?"  
  
Maybe it was because Jesper was distracted that he slipped up and said, "I don't have the grades, but sometimes it's nice to think about a job other than farming."  
  
Not that he wanted to go into law, either, he just wanted _options_ . He wanted… he wanted things he had thrown away himself, but that didn't make their absence easier.  
  
Jesper cleared his throat and went quiet for a moment. He didn't notice the other boy reaching for him until cool fingers alit gently on his hand. He didn't hold his hand or squeeze, just gave a gentle touch.

Then, suddenly, Smithers took his hand away and lowered his eyes, and that sense of familiarity was back. There was something in his veiled look and carefully neutral expression that Jesper recognized, enough to distract him from how long his eyelashes were. Definitely back to being Pretty Boy.

No… Cutie. He was more a Cutie than a Pretty Boy.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—“

“Hey,” Jesper interrupted, "it's okay."

"You looked tragically alone," he said, but it didn't sound judgmental or sarcastic. He seemed to genuinely mean that. 

Jesper had to smile. “You’re something, Cutie."  
  
The other boy looked away with a shake of his head, and Jesper took the opportunity to consider this new perspective. There was something fragile in him, like the pieces that made him up were independently ready to run away, like his faint freckles and turned-away gaze. The traits that weren't halfway gone only made him prettier, like the long eyelashes. Jesper wasn't objecting, simply seeing the questioning in him. He perched in his seat like he might float away, the tips of his long fingers pressed against his sketchbook like an anchor.  
  
That was enough talk about the realities of biofuel farming.  
  
"So, what do you draw?”

“Oh, just—I’m not really good.”

“I bet you are.”

“Might as well just give me your money.”

“Hey, I’ll take a forfeit. Do I get a peek in that sketchbook along with it?”

"No way!"

"Don't be shy. C'mon, you're probably like Vermeer."

"I'm really not—"

"More of a Monet?"

He blushed. Making him blush was so much fun, especially since now he looked at Jesper with surprising determination. "Not him either."

"Manet?"

"You have eclectic taste."

"Got 'em from Ocean's Eleven," Jesper admitted.

"Well, they're all painters."

"And you are...?"

"I like to draw. With pencils."

"So you're like a comic book artist?"

"No!" Ooh, he'd hit a nerve. "I want to be a _real_ artist, like… like Cath Riley. She works with graphite and she's a realist, she draws things that look like photographs. What she can do with just pencils… it's amazing. Some of my favorites are pictures she's drawn of two hands, one hovering over the other, they're not touching but they're so close to touching, there's electricity between them. The detail in her work? She draws every wrinkle, flexing tendon, the hairs on a knuckle. She must—she must just see everything, take in everything around her, and she recreates in this way that… it's real, but somehow has a quality of, of a dream at the same time, and she rarely does any backgrounds so instead of being the focus, her subjects are starkly isolated."

Jesper only vaguely understood most of that. Sure, the words made sense, but he didn't understand why it was special that someone drew wrinkled hands. He wasn't trying to understand, either. He was too busy watching Cutie. Suddenly he was just… lit up. His eyes sparkled. He was flushed an entirely different sort of pink and his chapped lips moved around the words like they wanted to hold onto them. He was so animated that his curls bounced when he talked. Making him blush was fun, but making him light up? Jesper had a warm, melting feeling just watching him, and he realized distantly what a goofy smile he was wearing and he didn't even care.

"...if, if that made any sense." His excited pink was already fading to an embarrassed one.

"Absolutely!" Jesper said. "Totally made sense. What else?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Come on. Cath Riley. Tell me more about her."  
  
Before Cutie had a chance to respond, a voice from behind him said, “Time to go, Jes.”  
  
Jesper froze, then slumped his shoulders. He had almost forgotten how entirely grounded he was, having a nice time talking to a cute boy, but his da’s voice sounded utterly unamused. This wasn’t the time to try to wheedle extra minutes. He realized he had shredded the coffee's heat sleeve to a pile of depressing confetti and scooped it into one hand to throw out.  
  
Jesper slid out of his seat and grabbed his coffee. "Room number?"  
  
"Fifte—"  
  
The muscled lump cleared his throat. Cutie closed his mouth. If his da hadn't been there, Jesper might have needed to get in his face.  
  
“It was nice meeting you," Jesper said.  
  
“Likewise. Maybe I’ll see you around.”  
  
Jesper tossed one final wink and Cutie’s resulting smile almost made up for what came next. Almost.

* * *

  
  
Colm Fahey was more than capable of shouting. He didn't do it often, but he was capable—Jesper knew from multiple incidents throughout his childhood. Jesper didn't like being shouted at, but he would take it over the quietness he faced these days. When Colm was quietly angry, Jesper felt so much more alone. He felt keenly that he had disappointed his father. That he had _hurt_ him.  
  
"Da?" Jesper ventured after too many moments of sitting quietly at the end of his bed. He hadn't tried to explain wandering off in the middle of the night. That was Jesper's contribution, his own broken quiet. The knowing that he had disappointed his father too many times and sometimes he should just shut his mouth and not make it worse.  
  
Colm had been pacing the small room. Now he stopped and turned to Jesper. Jesper couldn't help noticing the tiredness in his face.  
  
"Were you anywhere else?"  
  
"No. I just went for a coffee."  
  
"And that boy, was he… were you…"  
  
"No! I saw a cute guy, that's all!"  
  
Colm nodded. "Okay," he said. "All right, Jes."  
  
Jesper had wandered down to the lobby Starbucks in his pajamas. Colm showed up in jeans and a sweater at midnight, and Jesper knew it wasn't his concern for appearances. It was because he thought he might need to go looking for his son beyond the hotel lobby.  
  
"I woke up and you weren't here. What was I supposed to think?"  
  
It wasn't that Jesper hadn't noticed, just like he hadn't noticed the gray in his father's hair or the tiredness in his face. It wasn't that he hadn't _tried_ . It was just…  
  
His mouth acted without his brain's consent and said, "You could have texted me if you hadn't confiscated my phone."  
  
Jesper winced at himself. He was trying. He was trying not to make it worse. But… —did his da need his phone? Did he think a guy could google _where to score coke_ and it was that simple?   
  
"I couldn't sleep. What did you want me to do? Lie there and listen to you snoring for another six hours? You want the lamp off to sleep, you don't want me to have a phone…"  
  
Colm sighed. He sat heavily on the second bed and said, "I know it's not easy."  
  
It wasn't. Sometimes Jesper wished his da were more like the parents on TV or in books, someone to shout _because I said so_ or _just do what I tell you_ . Even when Da shouted, it was more about how Jesper could have gotten himself hurt. Now he just sounded worn down.  
  
Jesper dropped his head.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Not just about tonight."  
  
Colm was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I know that, too. You can keep the lamp on."  
  
"I'm… I'm tired now."

  
  
_(Author's Note: The character's views on comic book artists do not reflect the author's. The character's views on Cath Riley, however, are spot on. Google her. You won't be_ _sorry.)_


	2. Nachos and Milkshakes

Jesper woke the following morning vaguely aware of what had happened the previous night… or at least that _something_ had happened the previous night. It was all a jumble of Da's tiredness and that horrible hot feeling in Jesper's gut and incongruous sweet blue eyes… he moaned and threw a hand over his eyes. How did one night in a freaking _farmers' convention_ have him so wrecked?  
  
He risked a peek over his hand. Judging from the sunlight, Da would already be gone. Jesper rolled his head to the side. Yep. The other bed was empty and—had Colm actually made the bed? Of course he had. Of course, despite staying in a hotel, Colm Fahey had made his own bed. Jesper shouldn't have been surprised.

Greater surprise came when he saw what was on the nightstand. Jesper startled, then pushed himself up, letting the covers fall away. His phone! He snatched it up, relaxed just feeling it in his hands again. Several apps had been removed—the empty icon spaces stung, but Jesper couldn't fault his da—more important were the 15 messages waiting for him.

Only two messages were from Kaz.

KAZ  
Let me know if you change your mind on Project VP.  
Heard you lost your phone.

Jesper shook his head. When Kaz learned that Jesper would be tagging along to the same convention where the Vice President was making a campaign stop, his brilliant, evil brain went into hyperdrive. Jesper wasn't sure if he should be more worried that Kaz had suggested trying to kidnap the Vice President after his speech at the convention, or that he seemed serious about it. Kaz wasn't wrong that Jesper and Nina hated the man. The man? The country sometimes, definitely the state for sending its electoral votes to someone who talked about _the grieving parents whose son or daughter has chosen the sinful path of homosexuality_. That didn't mean they fancied spending their lives in prison!

Nina's messages were more plentiful and more entertaining. She had texted him from her job. Working at the gas station hadn't been her dream, but it had been within her grasp, and for that she was grateful. Grateful and bored. She texted Jesper to tell him about customers, about station quirks, about snacks. She texted him when her bra strap broke—a full third of her texts were from that incident. She texted him how sorry she was he was stuck at the convention. Jesper grinned as he scrolled through the chatty messages.

JESPER  
Convention might not be so bad after all… 

NINA  
MY DUDE. YOUR PHONE!

JESPER  
Da gave it back.

NINA  
Yes! You will keep me company.

JESPER  
You will keep ME company.

NINA  
Um I have a boring job.

JESPER  
I have a boy problem.

NINA  
All your problems are boy problems. Problem of being a boy = that.

JESPER  
Nina.  
Nina.  
Nina Nina Nina.  
I met the cutest boy.

NINA  
!!!!!  
DETAILS NOW OR I DUMP YOU.

Jesper grinned wider. He knew she would understand! Sometimes, he wondered why Kaz hung out with him. He never wondered about himself and Nina. They understood each other, had faced similar challenges, up to and including their floundering love lives.

He wrote her a long text about Mister Smithers, the blushing artist with the elegant eyelashes and quick wit that was so easily hidden. He told her about the problems, too. His da had shown up so suddenly, Jesper didn't get Cutie's phone number. He didn't even get his _name_! He only knew it wasn't Waylon. Winston? Watson? Wisconsin?

NINA  
Find him.

Jesper shook his head. Well of course he wanted to find him! What else did he have to do at this stupid conference?

NINA  
Find. Kiss. You queen commands it.

He laughed and sent back, _Yes, your majesty_ , before finally putting his phone down. Finding Cutie was the plan for today… but first he needed to brush his teeth.

* * *

Jesper started with common areas, just in case the boy from last night wasn't in his room. Starbucks was busy, but Jesper's cutie of choice was not present. Nor was he present at the pool, in either of the hotel's two restaurants, in the bar… Jesper lingered a little too long there, but managed to pull himself away without a drink.

JESPER  
What if I can't find him?

NINA  
Kiss something else.

That did not remotely address Jesper's concern.

JESPER  
Your ass?

NINA  
It is glorious.

He only had one clue to work with. Before he was interrupted, Smithers had started to say 'fifteen'. Jesper had hoped to find him in the common areas. What else was he going to do, after all? Knock on doors to every room on the fifteenth floor?

Maybe.

It was better than hiding out in his room. Conferences, especially when one wasn't to leave the hotel, were exceptionally boring. Only partly for lack of anything better to do, Jesper caught an elevator. Who knew? Maybe he would find a clue on the fifteenth floor… or get some Oreos. The vending machines on the third floor didn't have Oreos. Jesper wondered if the treats were better up here. If not, he would settle for another Famous Amos.

He tapped the elevator buttons for each floor gently, not to actually stop on those floors, just for something to do. Maybe he should have agreed to Kaz's zany scheme to kidnap the VP. Sure, he'd wind up in prison, but he wouldn't be so _bored._

With a too-cheery ding, the elevator deposited Jesper on the fifteenth floor.

The hallways looked the same, with such easily overlooked carpeting and repetitive doors he wouldn't have been entirely surprised if a pair of tiny twins in frilly party dresses invited him to come play with us, Jesper… for ever… and ever… and ever! It had been difficult not to make that joke last night, but to say his da disliked horror movies was a drastic understatement. He didn't see the fun in being scared.

Jesper didn't see any twins, but he found a vending machine and bought himself a bag of Famous Amos since it contained no Oreos. He wandered around until he was finished with the cookies, seeing nothing of note in those three minutes.

What did he expect to see in the way of clues? A sign on the door that read, "Please Find Enclosed The Most Adorable Artist In Iowa"? Admittedly, that would be very convenient, but Jesper deemed it unrealistic. 

He stood at a T-junction instead and shouted, "Vermeer is better than Cath Riley, fight me!"

He didn't get a reaction, so he headed down the hallway, turned a corner, and at the next corner he did it again.

"Monet is better than Cath Riley, fight me!"

It wasn't until the third attempt ("Manet is better than Cath Riley, fight me!") that Jesper heard a response. It was hesitant and the words were rushed, but it was definitely for him.

"I-I will!"

Jesper grinned. He headed toward that voice, calling, "Bring it!"

"Okay!"

Perfect. Just _perfect_. Jesper turned the next corner and there he was, already blushing. Was he blushing from all the shouting or because he was just that excited to see Jesper? Either way, it was adorable. Behind him stood a rather severe-looking woman in a sharp black suit. Was that—damn, it was. That was a Glock at her hip.

She was a secret agent! No, not secret. Obvious agent? Whatever kind of agent she was, that was so awesome.

"Hi," said the most adorable artist in Iowa with a shy grin. 

Jesper couldn't help it. That shyness made him feel like each grin and laugh was just for him.

"Hey, you."

He turned to Definitely A Federal Agent and explained, "I'd like to invite him to hang out, Agent Rabinowitz. I met him last night. He's not going to hurt me."

 _Awfully presumptuous of you,_ Jesper thought. He would have said it, too, with a suggestive tone and a wink, if there hadn’t been a federal agent glaring at him.

"ID?" she asked.

He gave her his license. She scanned it, nodded, and handed it back.

"If he’s coming in the room, I'll need to search him."

Just a hint of tremor in his voice, Cutie asked, "Is that okay, Mister Hale? I mean, would you like to…?" He lived up to his name, dipping his head just slightly and looking up at Jesper with a mix of invitation and fragile hope. Jesper wanted to brush the curls away from his eyes, but he wasn't sure Agent Rabinowitz would let him touch her charge.

Jesper laughed. Hale! "Go right ahead."

 _Tickets to the gun show_. The words flashed neon in Jesper's head, but he held his tongue as the agent patted him down.

"Clear," she reported.

"My room is just this way. Would you like to come in?"

"Thank you."

Jesper straightened his _Kiss Me I'm Irish_ t-shirt (they did not print _Kiss Me I'm Haitian/Irish/Welsh_ shirts, alas) with an affected dignity as he stepped across the threshold, and waited until the door was closed behind him to say, "Your room is like seventeen times nicer than mine."

"It's a suite," Cutie said, sheepish.

About twice the size of the room Jesper currently shared with his da, this one had a separate sitting room and a king bed. Jesper looked into the bathroom and announced, "I can actually see the increased fluff quotient on these towels! Bet your sheets are nicer, too—damn, they are!"

"Would you like something to drink?"

Jesper checked out the mini-bar. It failed to live up to its name—it was in fact a mini fridge, stocked with sodas, juice, and junk food. Jesper's stomach audibly announced its preference.

"You won't be in trouble?" Jesper asked, popping a Sprite.

Cutie shook his head. "If you're really hungry we can get room service."

Jesper gave him a wary look. "Are you actually a witch?" he asked.

Cutie laughed. "You mean I'm bewitching?"

Jesper laughed so hard he had to toss his head back. "That was _so lame_ . Just… just _so_ lame! No, 'cause this place sucked until I met you. Now I'm in the cushiest room I've ever been in and you're offering all kinds of treats. That's a mid-city Hansel and Gretel, it's not about you being bewitching." 

"Oh, shut up, I'm enchanting."

"That plays into my 'you are a witch' theory, y'know."

"Awfully judgmental for a vampire."

Jesper was so glad he'd found Smithers again. He was fairly certain this must be the son of a Senator, based on the security outside his door and the fancy room, but forgot to ask. He was having too much fun. And he was a little afraid of the answer.

He drained his soda, crumpled the can, and tossed it into the trash, then picked up the room service menu. Before, there had been no point in looking. This place—even the normal rooms—wasn't something Colm Fahey could afford. He did well enough, but he was a farmer. He and Jesper were only here because Colm had done some work with the university with their hybrid seeds. No one pretended he was there as anything more than a publicity stunt— _nerd science and real people!_ —but since no one had pretended otherwise, no one was hurt by the truth of it.

"So…" Turning to Cutie, Jesper asked, "You come here often?"

He laughed and blushed. "Hotels, sure. This one… this is my first time."

Jesper's jaw worked as he struggled against a joke that might be too much, that he knew he shouldn't, but—"Well, I'm honored to be here for your first time."

Cutie turned so deeply red, his eyes bugging huge, that Jesper almost thought he would pass out. Instead he flopped into one of the cushy chairs and pulled a pillow across his lap. "Shut up," he said before Jesper had time to laugh.

Jesper shrugged. "It's a compliment." A lot of things bothered him. Cute guys getting turned on by his presence? Not one of them!

"I like boys," Cutie blurted, looking away. "I mean, I like… I'm a… I'm like that."

Son of a _Republican_ Senator.

"You're a what?" Jesper asked.

Cutie didn't answer out loud. Oh, he was _really_ deep into it, wasn't he?

Jesper crouched in front of him, doing his best to force him into eye contact. "Hey. Have you not realized I've been flirting with you literally this entire time?"

“Y-you have?”

“Oh, yeah. Know why?”

“Why?”

He sounded so _wary_. Jesper knew he was lucky to have such an accepting father. Colm didn't exactly understand what pansexual meant, but he tried to. His final opinion on the subject had been, "If it makes you happy, all right, lad." Jesper didn't want to imagine how Cutie's dad must have responded, if he even knew.

“’Cause you’re cute.”

“Oh…" Cutie looked at him. "You’re cute, too.” 

Jesper could _almost_ laugh. 

“I’m more handsome than cute.” 

“The face of a muse," he agreed. His face was still splotchy red, but he was smiling again. He looked into Jesper eyes and Jesper looked back, and he was sure now that they had something between them, that they were mutually falling into each other's gaze and—

And Jesper's stomach rumbled, ruining the moment and sending them both into helpless laughter.

"Okay, let's get you some lunch," Cutie said.

"And you."

"And me." 

"You ready to stand up?"

Cutie nodded, though he was still blushing as he handed Jesper a room service menu. "They usually just have basic stuff—burgers, salads, that kind of thing."

"This one has nachos."

"I'm not sure I'd trust nachos in this part of the country," Cutie said, then he realized he was talking to someone from this part of the country and his eyes widened. "I-I mean… uh… they have chicken wings… that looks good…"

"Are you saying that 'cause I'm black?" Jesper teased.

"What? No! Why would you—I shouldn't eat chicken wings, anyway."

"That's a weird restriction."

"Too messy," Cutie said with a shrug. "Stains."

So what? Sure, his clothes looked expensive, but judging from the suite, that wasn't a huge concern for his family.

"Problem solved, all chicken wings, no clothes."

Cutie blushed.

Jesper winked. "We'll save that for the third date."

His blush deepened. 

Jesper didn't mind if Cutie just wanted to hang out and call it friendship. He examined the other boy for a moment, then asked, "What do you normally eat?"

"Um, if my father's here, he would want me to pick the salmon or a salad."

Because his father felt a teenage boy ought to adhere to the diet of a forty-something watching his figure or because that sounded the most refined? Jesper knew fancy when he heard it, and that was as close as this menu came! The weird rules just seemed dumb to Jesper. Why have all that money and no fun with it?

"Got it. So. Nachos and milkshakes?"

Jesper was hungry, and that inspired him to make this decision more quickly… but he also suspected Cutie's dad was a complete jackass. Getting him normal food seemed like something that would both upset his dad and let him have a good time.

"We shouldn't…" Cutie muttered, looking off in a way that suggested by 'we shouldn't' he meant 'I want to'.

Jesper threw an arm around the other boy's shoulders and pulled him into half a hug. He couldn't help noticing the way Cutie first stiffened, then relaxed into the hug. How long had it been since someone hugged this guy?  
  
"Let's do all the things we shouldn't," Jesper said.

Later, when Cutie had gone to answer the door and take the food, Jesper pulled out his phone and texted Nina that he had found the boy from last night. Nina wanted to know if he had kissed him yet. He texted his da that he was hanging out with another boy who had tagged along to the convention with his father, bonding over their dislike of pineapple on pizza. Jesper only knew one twisted bastard who liked pineapple on his pizza.

Over gooey nachos, Cutie asked, "What's your school like?"

"It's school. You know."

Despite the presence of cushy chairs, they sat on the floor, their shoes and socks off. The room had carpet thick enough for Jesper to curl his toes in.

"I don't, really. I don't go to school. I work with tutors. I've always been curious about what it's like for others, I know movies aren't accurate—at least, I don't think so."

"You're curious about us peasants, huh?" Jesper asked. "All right, all right. I go to George Washington Span, it's the only school I've ever gone to. Pre-k through fifth is on the lower yard. We have a moving-up ceremony each year. It's okay. Kind of lame." Jesper shrugged, not sure what else to say.

"And you probably have loads of friends, right?" His eyes were shining. This was actually interesting to him. 

"Mostly just my friends Nina and Kaz. I used to have more friends when I ran track—I guess you figured that out, right? From my shirt last night? Anyway, it's just the three of us these days. Nina's a lot like me. She's loud and tons of fun. Kaz… he's hard to describe. You'd have to meet him. He's brilliant. Sometimes he's a pain in the ass, but there's no one like him."

"Oh. Is he… he's your…?"

"Oh—no, I don't think he's into guys. I'm not sure if he's into anyone."

"That's a thing?"

"Being ace? Yeah, it's a thing."

"What's—what's ace?"

"Ace. Asexual, he doesn't feel sexual attraction."

"Oh. I thought… everyone was… um, do you like school?"

Jesper snorted. "Not really. It's school, you know? Oh. Right. School is for us common folk. School is like… putting up with people you don't like who remember everything you don't want them to remember. You can't get away from them and nothing you learn matters. You learn facts to take tests and, my favorite, you pay money to take more tests. Any chance I have to go to college is shot. It's dumb and it sucks."

"Then this must be a nice break?"

Jesper looked at the other boy and he was surprised by the earnestness in his face. He wasn't kidding. He had genuinely meant it when he asked about school and he genuinely meant it about this being a nice break, like a farmer's convention was some sort of holiday.

"Oh," Cutie said, face falling. "Maybe not."

"Look, even for the serfs—"

"Cut it out!" Cutie objected. "I haven't said anything about class, not anything! I like coming here. It's different from what I usually do and sometimes I get to meet someone really cool. I understand it's not exciting for you, but to me it is."

Jesper looked at his feet, toes curling on the carpet. "You're right," he agreed. "You didn't say that stuff. You play any video games?"

Cutie shook his head. "My father says they rot your brain."

Jesper could have asked his name, but honestly, he kind of liked thinking of him as Cutie. Besides, once he knew his name, he would know which Senator was his dad—there was no scenario where that guessing game took a pleasantly surprising turn. He didn't want to associate his cute friend with a homophobic spiel he had probably heard many times over. It was especially bad this year, with elections coming up. 

"Is there any form of fun your father _doesn't_ see as a social ill?"

After a moment's contemplation, he said, "Well, he likes golf," and somehow that had both of them in stitches. Maybe it was the tone or the answer itself or the sheer absurdity of their situation, but they laughed themselves silly over the idea of Cutie's ridiculous father thinking the best fun was _golf_.

"Do you play?"

"Um…"

Jesper laughed. "Oh my god, you do!"

"Not well!"

He laughed harder.

"Oh, whatever, you dumb jock."

Jesper hugged his belly, all cramped up from too much laughing. When he had recovered, though, he took out his phone.

"Here," he said, "intro to video games. This one's older but it's pretty fun. You swipe up to jump, down to slide, and left or right to turn."

Jesper handed over the phone. The main character started running away from a monster.

"Jump," Jesper said, "jump, jump!"

Cutie didn't jump. The avatar fell off the path instead of jumping for the rope.

Jesper laughed. "Okay, round two," he said in the split second before the ad popped up. Normally ads were an annoying necessity, but the election ads just frustrated him. Besides, "He's trying to appeal to people who weren't even _alive_ when he was voted in! There's people old enough to vote whose _parents_ weren't even alive when he was voted in."

"I guess some people like him."

 _People who like the President,_ Jesper thought, but kept that to himself. There was still a possibility this boy might be of the Republican persuasion and he didn't want that argument when they could keep playing video games.  
  
Round two didn't go immensely better, but he managed on round three, with Jesper calling instructions the whole time: "Up! Right! Right! Down! Tilt it! No, tilt it, tilt—okay, new game." This time Jesper scooted closer, putting his arm along Cutie's, helping him move the phone when the game dropped half the pathway, adding advice—"No, you have to slide under the fire!" "Keep running, you'll lose the monster!"

Finally, Cutie looked up and said, "That was awesome, but maybe it's time for a break?"

"Sure. You can show me your sketchbook," Jesper suggested. 

"Or, or," his voice was a little too high, "you could tell me more about yourself! Like, what do you do for fun?"

Jesper considered whether or not to push for the sketchbook. Obviously Cutie wanted to keep it a secret, but he kept a lot of things secret. The way he smiled sometimes, he looked like he was confessing something, not just a smile but an admission that he was vulnerable to happiness.

"I'll trade you. I answer one question and you show me one sketch."

"I get to pick the sketch?"

Given that he also got to pick the question, Jesper realized Cutie entirely controlled the situation, but he didn't mind. "Sure."

"Okay."

He stood up and fetched his sketchbook. Rather than sitting next to Jesper again, he took a seat on the edge of a chair, his sketchbook perched on his knees.

"You're sitting all the way over there?"

" _One_ sketch," he said very seriously, so much that Jesper didn't even jokingly promise not to peek. He just nodded. 

"Okay. This better be a good question."

With a deep breath, he asked, "What job do you want when you're older?"

What job did he want? That was the question? It sounded so simplistic that Jesper opened his mouth to give an easy answer—but none came to him. He didn't know what job he wanted. When he was realizing he didn't want to be a farmer, he was also falling deeper into a pit of wanting nothing but "to get high". He'd been occupied with picking up the pieces since then. 

It was a great way to avoid a complicated question.

"I don't know," Jesper admitted. "Now let's see a sketch."

"What? No, you didn't answer."

"I did answer, you just don't _like_ the answer."

"It doesn't count."

"Fine," Jesper ceded, "but the longer you put it off, the more I assume you're afraid I'll be intimidated by your talent. I won't, by the way." He wasn't an artist himself, so he could appreciate talent without feeling envious of it.

"I'm not—okay, um, if you could have a pet, what pet would you want and why?"

Jesper shook his head. "That's two questions and one of your parents must be a lawyer, but fine. I want a dog. I want a big, shaggy dog who has as much energy as I do. The messy kind, too. Like a Lassie dog who waits for me at the bottom of the driveway after school and I better have muddy pawprints on my shirt before I get home."

"What would you name him?"

"Rhodri. And that's two answers, you owe me two sketches."

"I didn't—okay." He looked through his sketchbook, a deeply solemn expression on his face, occasionally shaking his head as he turned to the next page. Finally he decided on a sketch and handed the book to Jesper.

"Oh, wow. How do you make a bird look so pissed off? That's awesome!"

Giving his shoulders an uncomfortable shift, he said, "Crows just look mad sometimes. It's not really me."

"You even made his feathers shine. Are you actually Cath Riley and that whole 'person I admire' speech was meant to throw me off?"

Jesper turned the notebook over to look at the next sketch. This one was a toddler with an ice cream cone. He knew little about art but even he could tell the lines were lighter, the picture overall sunnier. The girl looked almost palpably happy.

"Holy shit, you're some kind of virtuoso."

Jesper handed the notebook back. 

"I'm done calling you Smithers," he announced, "it's Riley now, because if you're not the actual Cath Riley, you're definitely the _next_ Cath Riley." Not that he had seen Cath Riley's work, though Jesper decided to look her up later, but that was the standard his Riley used.

Shaking his head, Riley—he sort of looked like a Riley, too—said, "I'm nowhere near her level." He looked embarrassed, cheeks bright pink, but he looked pleased, too.

"Prove it," Jesper shot back. "Give me another question so I can see more of your work."

They passed the afternoon that way, trading questions for sketches until somehow they both looked up and realized the sun was going down. It wasn't a problem for Jesper; he'd replied to a few texts from his da to check in that he was fine. Apparently his new friend felt otherwise.

"Is it that late? No, no, no—I have to get dressed—and you have to go. I'm sorry—he can't find you here," he explained, scrambling to clean up the snack wrappers.

"You share this room with your father?" Jesper asked. Maybe that wasn't the point, but it had only one bed. There was a little sofa in the sitting room; it seemed outright mean to get the fancy room and make your son sleep on the sofa instead of getting a less fancy room with two beds in it.

"No, but he'll come by if he wants me to join him. It's better for me to be ready, just in case. Please—"

"Yeah, of course," Jesper agreed, helping Cutie—no, helping _Riley_ clean up. "Of course. Let me put my number in your phone, though, we can hang out tomorrow."

Riley handed over his phone and Jesper programmed himself into the contacts under the name 'Mister Hale'. Jesper expected a smile, but Riley slipped the phone into his pocket without even looking. Ah, well. He would see it later.

Jesper didn't waste time putting on his shoes, just scooped them up and headed for the door.

"Hey—I… today was… today was great. Thank you for coming to find me."

Jesper grinned. "I'll do it again now that I know where you are," he promised. He was tempted, so tempted to ask for a kiss, but they were already out of time. Instead, Jesper scooted out the door. He noticed the Lump who had glowered at him in the coffee shop had replaced Rabinowitz and nodded to him. So he hadn't been silently condemning them to Hell, just evaluating Jesper as a potential threat. Lump returned Jesper's nod, and Jesper felt like he had passed a test.


	3. One Time at Bible Camp

WYLAN

Wylan returned from dinner nearly exhausted. Being in public with his father wrung him out, not so much physically, but from how constantly he needed to be wary, watching his words, always smiling. Normally, Wylan played little role in his father's life, but that always changed as an election approached. Then it was time to remind the voters what a steady family man Jan Van Eck was, what a good son he had raised. Wylan brought all his effort to helping his father. It was the very least a loving son would do.   
  
He would need a new line about college soon. He used to be able to shrug it off, say he was only… only ten, twelve, even only fifteen years old. Now, at sixteen, he ought to be narrowing down his choices. Instead he was wondering what would happen to him. Would Father keep him, or when he turned eighteen was he on his own?

With dinner over and Father moving on to drinks with the other men, Wylan had been sent up to bed. He only waited until the elevator doors were closed before he asked.

"Will you tell Father? About… the boy?"

"I don't work for your father, Mister Van Eck. I work for the United States of America."

"Thank you." Then, a moment later, "He's so cool. So confident, and smart and funny and  _ so _ ho—" Wylan interrupted himself with a cough, but when he looked to his security escort, he saw a little smile on the man's face.

"He sounds very nice."

"He is," Wylan whispered, blushing. By now he had figured out that Hale only called him 'cute' to make him feel better, no one would find someone like Wylan attractive, but it had been kind of him to say.

"You deserve nice friends."

Wylan couldn't stop himself from looking up at the agent in surprise. His tone was neutral, but the words were almost… approving? Even after Wylan nearly said he thought a boy was hot?  
  
"Thank you."

They had their conversation staring straight ahead like it wasn't a conversation, like they were simply stating random facts, but… well, it meant a lot to Wylan. He knew it wasn't professional, so he kept those chats to a minimum. Better to have them rarely than not at all.

He saved his phone until he was already in bed. Then Wylan stuck his earbuds in and played his text messages. The text-to-speech program was easy to use and let him feel… normal. Not like Wylan knew what 'normal' meant, but he enjoyed with the electronic voice began reading, "Text message from Mister Hale…"

Wylan laughed. He replayed the message twice. It wasn't much— _ hey cute virtuoso, today was fun. Round two tomorrow? Name the place. See you there! —Sexy vampire. _ His… friend? They were friends, right? They had only just met, but Wylan still liked thinking of him as a friend.

His friend was so funny.

Wylan didn't have the courage to write the same sort of cute text. Instead, he dictated softly into the dark, "How about the rooftop garden? Looking forward to it."

* * *

They hadn't specified a time, so Wylan went to the rooftop garden early, bringing his math book so he had something to do. For all he knew his friend (the thought sent a little thrill through him; he had never had a friend before) wanted to meet in late afternoon. Wylan hoped not. Sure, they probably only had a few days with each other, but he wanted to enjoy the days they had.  _ As friends. _

The thought made Wylan grin even as he tried to focus on his math book.

He found the garden itself a little disappointing. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it was something more than just potted plants and unused tables and chairs. People rarely used all the amenities of a hotel, Wylan had found. He had stayed in enough of them to have a sense for where to hide. So most of the tables sat empty, except the one filled with math homework.

"I thought you were homeschooled because you're rich, I didn't realize it was because you're some kind of genius."

Wylan startled. "I—I'm not a…" He closed his homework and swept it in his satchel, turning his attention to Mister Hale instead. The first thing Wylan noticed was the jumble of letters on his t-shirt above the cartoon picture. He couldn't help it. That was a half a heartbeat, though, until Wylan's attention was drawn to Hale's sparkling gray eyes and sly, beautiful smile. "Hey."

Hale laughed. "Hey," he said. "Want to take a walk? I can't leave this place without spitting over the edge."

"Gross," Wylan objected, secretly thinking it might be fun to do. As long as he could be sure no one would be hit. And that Father wouldn't find out.

As they walked aimlessly, Wylan tried to think of what to say. Something cool. Something impressive. What would impress Mister Hale? Maybe a pop culture reference? He clearly liked pop culture. But Wylan didn't know a lot of pop culture. It used to be okay, when he was younger, but in the past few years it had been made increasingly clear that time spent on frivolous things was wasted when Wylan ought to be studying to compensate for his defect. All the pop culture he knew was outdated.

Was it better to have outdated knowledge or no knowledge?   
  
"Have you ever seen  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ ?" Wylan asked. That was a good, one right? He remembered Hale's interest in lawyers from the other night.   
  
"No. I read the book in ninth grade, is the movie better?"   
  
"I didn't know it was a book."  
  
The other boy gave him a strange look. "You didn't know it was a book? Like the most famous American novel ever?"   
  
"Um…"

Wylan froze, feeling the burn of his blush right up to his curls. He didn't know what he had said wrong, exactly, except that  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ must have been really famous, and his comment just… it happened… and he felt like he might melt into a puddle now. And then evaporate. And then reconstitute as precipitation but he would land in the street and the snowplow would smash him into a bank of other boys who asked the cutest guy they'd ever met, who inexplicably showed interest in them, if  _ the most famous American novel ever  _ was a book.   
  
He may as well have painted a sign above his head of a book with a line through announcing that this moron couldn't read.

"I don't know why I said that," he whispered. "Please, please forget I said that."

"Not a chance," Mister Hale said, laughing.

Wylan put his face in his hands.

"Come on, let's check out the view!"

Hale grabbed Wylan's arm, tugging his hand away from his face and bringing him closer to the edge, and his palm felt so warm…

_ The view, _ Wylan told himself.  _ Look at the view! _

"Wow!" Wylan gasped. Because…  _ wow _ , wow they were high up! He had looked out the windows from his suite, but a couple more stories and a direct view down gave him much more strongly a sense of falling, a delicious shiver of fear.

"Is it like this flying?"

"No. You can make out the ground from here. Flying you're too high up, it just looks like… like grids, more than anything."

"Is it fun?"

"Not especially. I suppose takeoffs and landings are cool. You're going almost 200 miles an hour. You've never been on a plane?"

Hale shook his head. Wylan knew he had another name, something that was close to but not Jasper—Jesse? Casper? But trying to guess it felt wrong. It felt like a violation of this fragile thing they had.

"Is this the first time you've left the state?" Wylan asked, shifting his gaze from the sidewalk far below to the boy beside him.

Hale raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think I've left the state? I mean, I've been to Florida, but I am Iowan."

"Oh…"

There was Wylan, being small-minded again. He didn't mean to. He supposed it was just weird to think about anyone being permanently in a place like Iowa, the sort of place Wylan knew only from campaign stops. He had been to the state fair with his father during the last election and been handed so many corndogs and fried Oreos to eat for the cameras, he threw up. Most news networks had the decency not to air footage of a teenager hurling no matter how famous his father might be.  _ Most _ networks. The footage still got out. 

Who cared about stupid corndogs, anyway? They didn't even taste good. Wylan didn't fully understand why eating bad food in public helped his father get elected.

"Where do you want to go to college?" Wylan asked. Because sure, Mister Hale hadn't left the state  _ yet _ , but he was brave and clever, the sort of person any school would be lucky to have.

"I'm not going to college."

"Why not?"

"Because my da  _ grows corn _ ," he said, "and college costs more than the farm is worth."

"I'm sorry. I thought—do you want to leave the state?"

He just shrugged.

Wylan wasn't asking the right questions. He knew that, he just… couldn't figure out what the right questions were. Ask about growing corn? No, that would be like asking Wylan about politics. Or corndogs.

"I like you," Wylan said. That was dumb, too, but at least Mister Hale seemed to like it. "I like how you're different. Everyone else cares about how they seem to others, but you do things because they're fun. I've never seen anyone drink their coffee with whipped cream before."

Mister Hale laughed. "My Starbucks order makes me special?"

"Sure," Wylan agreed, smiling back at him. "Among other things. All I can say for sure is that I've known you for like a day and I already know it's one of the most important days in my life."

"Are you proposing to me?"

Wylan elbowed him. "No! I'm just saying… you're special. Plus, you're the first person I've met who thinks it's okay I'm…" He looked around. He had a security detail, but he always had a security detail and knew the agent wouldn't report this to anyone. No one else was close. Wylan dropped his voice anyway as he said what he was: "A homo."

Hale startled. "You can self-define however you want, gorgeous, but are you using that term for empowerment or 'cause you don't know any others?"

Wasn't it the right term? It was what his father said. Of course, Father said other things, too, but they were laced with venom and spite, or delivered with heavy loathing. This was the term he would use casually.

"Okay, so, I know you like me," Hale began, leaning closer against Wylan. A part of Wylan knew this was a bad idea—if anyone saw him so close against another boy, another boy's arm around his waist, if his father learned about it, he would be in so much trouble. He felt so nice, though… "Broad strokes? If you don't like girls at all, you're gay. If you like more than one gender, you're bi. If gender is a non-factor for you, that would be pansexual. It kind of varies for each person. And that is a gross over-simplification of a _very_ complicated subject."

"Which one are you?" Wylan murmured.

"I'm pansexual."

"So you like both, you like girls and boys."

"I like both. Though some people don't identify as girls or boys."

"Oh." Wylan wasn't sure he understood all of that. Some of it, though—some of it he understood perfectly. "So I'm… gay. I've never told anyone. Even in—in any words."   
  
"Feels good, huh?"   
  
He nodded.   
  
"It took me a long time to come out. Just a few people back home know. I'm the only black kid in my school. I don't want to be the only queer kid, too—and there's a conversion place not that far from where I live. It's not a friendly neighborhood for people like us."   
  
Wylan shivered. He knew about those places.    
  
"This one time at Bible camp—" he began.

"You went to  _ Bible camp? _ "

"I like Bible camp!"

"Of course you do."

"Hey, don't judge something you don't know about! We were playing this game, you pull a piece of paper out of a jar and recite the verse—I pulled the one… you know. Leviticus 18:22. It says—"

"I know what it says," interrupted Hale. For the first time, he sounded bothered by something. This wasn't like teasing Wylan for class differences—and Wylan understood.

He nodded. "Well, Father Matt said that's not even an accurate translation. He said in the original Greek it says not to lie with children. Plus it's next to lines about not eating shellfish or wearing mixed fabrics." He'd seen his father eat shrimp. Wylan had never suggested to his father how he might feel about other boys, but he knew what his father would say if Wylan acknowledged it. He'd known for a long time, just like he was pretty sure his father knew about him.

"What do you do at Bible camp?"

Wylan hesitated.

"I'm not teasing you. You said not to judge something I don't know about, and I told you about my school, so, tell me about Bible camp."

"Well… a lot of it's about being outdoors. There's nature hikes and stargazing and swimming. We have campfires and make s'mores, usually one of the counselors would play guitar—it's not like it's in a monastery or anything. It's just a lot of fun."

"Sounds like it."

Wylan couldn't help searching Hale's face for any sign of teasing, but… it wasn't there. He seemed to genuinely mean what he had said, that it really sounded like fun.

"It is."

"What was your favorite part?"

"Probably stargazing. Have you ever just looked up and thought about how little we know about the stars? There's so much to learn and so much we never will. I know that twinkling stars are caused by starlight refracting different directions through atmospheric turbulence, I know that a star is really a collapsing, unstable cloud of dense matter, I understand nucleosynthesis, stars burning light matter into denser matter. I know that burn is the reason we can see each other. Starlight is beautiful and everything beautiful is just bouncing starlight and the only reason we exist, the reason the planet supports life is our atmosphere that only exists from the pull of the closest star, and—I'm, I'm sorry, I shouldn't—sorry," Wylan said, blushing as he realized how long he had gone out talking nonsense about stars. He was so stupid. How many times had Father tried to teach him not to go on about his dumb obsession with stars? It didn't even make sense, and Wylan knew it.

After a moment's silence, Mister Hale asked, "Have you ever heard of Grinnell?"

Wylan shook his head.

"It's a liberal arts college, they have a 'design your own curriculum' thing, only professors, no grad student teachers. It's like fifty miles outside Des Moines. It's a really good school. I have no idea if they have an astrophysics program, but you should find out. And then go there. And I can visit you on weekends and you can be my brilliant, gorgeous boyfriend."

Wylan laughed. It was a nice fantasy, and he liked to believe in it—that he might go to college, study the stars, have a  _ boyfriend _ , but… you had to be smart to get into college, especially a school like that. He doubted even University of Phoenix would take a moron like him. Obviously Hale was teasing about them being boyfriends. He liked guys, but he was someone handsome, cool, funny, obviously really smart—not the sort of person to want something like Wylan.

"I'll think about it," he said, since  _ sorry, I'm a moron _ would hurt too much.

"You'll think about being my boyfriend?"

"I…"

"No, no, go on thinking. It's a great thought, huh?"

_ Yes, _ Wylan admitted to himself, _ it's a great thought _ . But it was a stupid thought, too, and he was stupid for believing it.

He felt the closeness of the other boy, the way it made his heart race, Wylan glanced down and shifted his hand closer. He let the edge of his hand touch the edge of Mister Hale's, eliciting a tiny breath from Wylan. For a moment he let himself imagine Mister Hale leaning in closer and moving to kiss him—

"No," Wylan said. Hale might have put up with Wylan touching his hand, but he could never want to kiss him. Whatever the point in his boyfriend jokes, they were obviously just that, jokes. "I—can we be friends? Just—I like you, I—I'd like to be your friend."   
  
Hale looked stung, the spark in his grey eyes dimmed, but he nodded. "Sounds like a plan."   
  
Wylan swallowed. He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, hadn't meant to sound mean about Hale's jokes. He just didn't want to be teased.   
  
"I really do like you," he said. "You're so smart and funny, you're one of the most interesting people I've ever met. Maybe we could hang out in my room again?"   
  
"Sure." That spark was growing again. "Of course we can be friends."

* * *

"You pick," Wylan said, tossing the remote to his friend. The thought gave him a warm feeling. Despite his weirdness earlier, Hale still wanted to be his friend.

Mister Hale caught it one-handed, which Wylan found almost shamefully attractive, then paused. "Do I need to worry about impressing you with arthouse movies?" he asked, kicking off his shoes. His manner was easy again, cheerful, and it eased the tension Wylan had felt about shutting down his jokes earlier.

Now Wylan laughed. "I'm not picky," he promised. "We can watch whatever you like."

"Sweet! Ooh, can I hold your hand if we watch a scary movie?"

"You'll need to hold a lot more than that!" Wylan said. He had never seen a horror movie, but had the feeling if he did, he'd like someone's arm across his shoulders. What was the point in letting yourself be scared if you weren't going to let yourself feel protected?  
  
Only when he caught the look on Hale's face did Wylan realize there was another interpretation to that sentence. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

Hale burst out laughing.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Wylan objected.

He laughed harder.

Wylan laughed, too, blushing and protesting, "I didn't!" like it made any difference. 

He picked a completely ridiculous movie about a bunch of scientists who made sharks smart so the sharks tried to kill them. That was it. That was the entire movie. It was perfect, because they could get distracted with joking around or talk seriously about things Wylan had never known a person could talk about or throw peanut m&m's and try to catch them in their mouths, then drift back into the movie to watch someone else get eaten by a shark.

That movie led into another one that was also shark-centric but even sillier.

"Oh my God, don't change the channel! This one's awesome, it's even better."

"What's a Shark...nado?"

"It's a tornado that sucks up sharks."

"A tornado. That sucks up sharks."

"Yep. That's literally it."

"How have I gone my entire life without watching shark movies?"

"You've led a wanting life, rich boy."

Wylan blushed, but after a moment he managed to roll his eyes. He hadn't said anything about money, and he didn't think he was doing anything to demean Hale for not coming from money. So why was it such a big deal?

_ Sharknado _ proved to be every bit as ridiculous as the previous film. Just like with the last one, they joked around and paid little attention and it didn't matter. They ended up sprawled belly-down on the bed, tuning in for the occasional shark attack but mostly focused on each other. These shark movies were perfect background noise.

Mostly.

A shark flew open-mouthed at the screen. Wylan yelped and jumped, and Hale laughed.

"It scared me!"

"I could see that," Hale said. He ruffled Wylan's curls. That was worth a thousand jump scares. It was forward, but worth the scare. "But we're still watching, right?"

"Oh… yeah," Wylan said, breathless, staring into Hale's eyes. They were gray… a nice gray, with variations near his pupils like the sun flaring out around an eclipse…. Forcing his attention away from the beautiful boy next to him, Wylan asked, "Can we just watch the sharks for a little?"

"Sure, if that's what you want."

Hale returned his attention to the movie, but Wylan couldn't help looking at him. He tried stealing a quick glimpse, but it just wasn't enough. Wylan found his gaze drawn to Hale's perfectly formed lips. He'd like to kiss those lips. Be kissed by those lips. The idea spun a warm, tense knot in his belly and Wylan hated himself for harboring it. Was that all it took, just a few jokes from a cute guy and he forgot what he was?   
  
Maybe he could sketch Hale's lips. Maybe if he worked a graphite likeness in his sketchbook… yes, he'd like that, a souvenir from a day so perfect it ought to be made a holiday.

The movie cut away to a commercial and Hale's attention shifted; Wylan cleared his throat and pointedly looked to the screen, making a show of not staring so rudely. Unfortunately, that left him staring at… a commercial encouraging voters to support a Republican challenger to the incumbent Representative. Wylan felt a hot, embarrassed blush climbing his face as the commercial talked at length about dangerous immigrants, even quoting his father.

"My grandfather's like that," Hale said. "My da tells me not to react, but sometimes I just want to shake him. My ma's family came here in the '80s and every time her father starts talking about—lazy immigrants, getting in line, any of that, I just think, what about him? Why was it okay when his family needed to get away from the Duvaliers, but suddenly people trying to get away from Kim or Maduro or gangs are a problem? He's my family and I love him, but he makes me so mad sometimes."

Wylan picked at the carpet as he turned over the words in his head. Obviously he  _ should _ know, but… he didn't. There was a strange comfort in it. As his father always said, Wylan couldn't help being slow-minded; Wylan was used to that.

"What are the Duvaliers?"

"They used to rule Haiti from the '50s to almost the '90s. The first, Francois Duvalier, technically he was elected, but then he named himself President for Life. Do you know what the Tonton Macoute was?"

Wylan shook his head. He had never heard the term.

"It was Duvalier's secret police. Tonton Macoute is basically the Haitian bogeyman. You know, be a good boy or Tonton Macoute will take you away. People would disappear for no clear reason under Duvalier. They would do horrible things, like, they would kill people and rape women, and—it was really bad. My grandmother died… I don't know what happened. Ma never talked about. It was enough to make my grandfather take his kids somewhere else, somewhere they could be safe. And you know what's especially messed up? It's not like the U.S. was super principled then, either, Haiti's close to Cuba so the U.S. barely did anything to help, didn't even use  _ sanctions _ as much as they could, because they were more concerned with going after communists than the deaths of Haitians. It's not even taught in school, people don't know this stuff and they should!"

Softly, Wylan said, "I'm sorry."

Why hadn't he known that? He barely knew where Haiti was, didn't know who was the current… President? Prime Minister? Why didn't he know more about it? He wondered if it helped that he didn't go to school. He studied at home, with tutors. So he had an excuse. Sort of.

"I'm not indifferent. I'm stupid, but it's not that I don't care."

"You're not stupid," Hale said, and Wylan couldn't stop a twist of guilt, because he was a liar for letting Hale believe that. A friend should be honest. "You just didn't know. My da's like that. He didn't have to think about a lot of things until he was raising me. He's straight and white. I'm neither of those things. There are things we don't think about until we have to. And I didn't mean to make you feel stupid."

"You didn't."

_ He _ didn't make Wylan feel stupid. Wylan's stupidity did that.

"Obviously that's not true."

Wylan didn't know how to make this conversation get back on the right track. He gnawed his thumb thoughtfully. He appreciated learning something new, but feelings were getting heated on both sides. Maybe a new subject was called for. Sharks? They could talk about sharks! At least, if he knew how to mention sharks without obviously, awkwardly changing the subject they could talk about sharks… 

Hale asked, "Want to have nachos again?"

Well… yes. And no. Because the nachos had been good, but varying from his father's restrictions had been even better. Why color outside the lines just to make one picture?

"Can we have pizza?"

Hale laughed. "Yes, we can have pizza. It's  _ your _ room service, y'know."

"Well, you're my guest," Wylan pointed out, feeling himself blush. He called for pizza and realized that left them back in the same awkwardness. Maybe they could play a game? But they didn't have even a checkers board, the best they could do was tic-tac-toe. Wylan was too embarrassed to suggest that.

A familiar voice sliced into the room. Wylan's breath caught. His father… he shouldn't be, if he knew about this—then Wylan realized what he was hearing. They hadn't turned off the TV. It was just a commercial, the sound jumping out because it was his father's voice.

"Yeah," Hale said, "I hate that guy, too."

_ You have no idea, _ Wylan thought, then immediately loathed himself. His father could be strict, but he was good to Wylan overall. Didn't Wylan always have what he needed? Hadn't he lived a life with every comfort? 

"Oh. You're a Republican?" Hale asked. Wylan's expression must have given something away. 

"I…" What could Wylan say? He didn't want to say that he didn't support his father, basic loyalty was the least his father could ask of him. "I'm too young to vote."

"You're not too young to have an opinion," Hale pointed out. "I can't vote yet and I know I'm a Democrat."

Wylan looked at him briefly, then looked away. He was insufficient. It was obvious in Hale's eyes, a teetering sense that whatever Wylan said next would have a significant impact on whether or not Hale still liked him. There had to be a right answer… didn't there? An answer that wouldn't disappoint his new friend or betray his father?

"I guess I… don't know enough," he said. 

"You should meet my friend Nina," Hale said, "she knows a ton about everything, not just the big stuff, either. Like I know I'm all for nuclear disarmament—"

"You are?" Wylan asked, surprised enough to look up at him. 

Nuclear weaponry was terrifying. One of his tutors had assigned him  _ Hiroshima _ once; Wylan couldn't read the book and the tutor was off course thinking he could appeal to Wylan by promising gruesomeness, but the descriptions his tutor gave stuck with him—the skin on people's hands sliding off like gloves… but…

"What about mutually assured destruction?" Wylan asked. "If we don't have a nuclear arsenal, we'd just get wiped off the map."

"Yeah, but do we need five thousand? 'Cause that's what we have."

Five thousand? Wylan hadn't known the number was anywhere close to that. He thought again about the gruesome descriptions from  _ Hiroshima _ . If one bomb could do that, what would five thousand do?

"No," Wylan said. "We don't need five thousand. Do you want to play cards? We can keep talking while we play." It would give him something else to focus on, too, a distraction when he needed one.

Wylan dealt and they played a few hands of rummy, with Hale turning the conversation back to sharks. He described other comparable movies Wylan  _ literally had to watch _ —Hale's words—about snakes, crocodiles, and imaginary hybrid creatures like piranhacondas. He pretended to have a heart attack when Wylan said he hadn't even heard of  _ Snakes on a Plane _ . 

"It's a rich genre," Hale concluded.

"I'll have to learn more."

"I could tutor you," Hale offered with a wink and a suggestive tone. That wasn't even a filthy joke, but it was enough to make Wylan blush and stammer. He couldn't have been more grateful when a knock on the door announced that their pizza had arrived.

Over mediocre slices, Hale asked, "Do you want them to be re-elected? The current administration, do you like them?"

"No." Wylan wanted the word to sound proud and confident. Instead it was almost a question. It felt good to say. Bad, disloyal to his father, but true. Wylan hated telling lies, he could feel the difference when he told the truth.

"I'm going to knock on doors closer to the election, maybe do phone calls."

"You won't repeat this to anyone, right?"

"Of course not."

"I wish I could do that."

"Hey, anyone can volunteer."

"My father…" Wylan shook his head. He knew better than most that the current administration needed to change, but he couldn't go against his father like that. His father deserved better from him.

Hale shrugged. "So when you move out and go to college."

Wylan nodded, even though he couldn't—wouldn't. He could not go to college. He was not fit to live independently, which meant he would be, eternally, his father's burden. Sometimes knowing that felt like looking down a dark hall. It felt like falling.

"Nachos were better," he said.

"Know what's better than nachos?"

"What?"

"You."

Wylan blushed.


	4. The Closest Thing to Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter discusses drug use and addiction.

JESPER

Jesper made a plan with two tools: lockpicks and his phone. The phone he used to look up the hotel pool's hours. The lockpicks he used to circumvent them, silently thanking the universe for not making this an electronic lock. He would have had to text Kaz and beg him to hack it. Kaz could probably do it in his sleep. Whether or not he’d do it all—just for the challenge, for his friend, or more likely just to get something from Jesper later—that was the bigger question.

JESPER   
Want to meet me at the pool?

Jesper spent longer than he would admit just looking at that text, rewording it, trying to make it—perfect. Inviting, but casual. No, fun. Not too casual.   
  
He had not given up on romance. Oh, his new friend was definitely interested! Jesper felt more than one long, lingering look that afternoon. He had caught his friend flinching when Jesper looked at him, too, and wondered if the rejection hadn't been more about religious homophobia. So he had decided to treat Riley like a boyfriend anyway: sneaking out, spending time together, and making certain Riley knew he had Jesper's attention and appreciation. How often did a guy meet a cute, sweet gay boy in  _ Iowa _ ? Jesper had to take his chances!  Besides, he reflected with a pang, someone needed to treat this boy right. 

JESPER   
Hey, virtuoso, if you think my *face* is muse-worthy… ;)

He deleted that one.

It might be a little too suggestive, and he didn't want those cute blushes wasted on empty rooms—or rooms that were full. Really any room that he himself wasn’t in.

Jesper dove in.  _ He _ was going to enjoy this at least. He swam laps, letting his mind go while his body cut through the water. He didn't swim competitively. Washington Span didn't even have a swimming team. He had always liked it, though. He didn't like the idea of huge bodies of water, something like the sea… so big it swallowed the land off the horizon. Maybe his grandfather's stories of coming to this country had influenced his sense of unsettledness there. A pool, a lake, something manageable? Jesper liked that.

He had lost track of how many laps he'd swum when he someone else joined him. With a flip turn that was only half ( _ maybe _ three-quarters) showing off, he turned and hurried back to the opposite edge of the pool.

"Hey," he said, water running down his face. He couldn't hide his grin, and judging from the reaction, he looked damn good. Which made him smile more broadly.

"Hi."

Jesper looked the cute virtuoso up and down. He was wearing a hotel bathrobe and… loafers? Did he not own flip-flops?

_ No, _ Jesper realized. He did not own flip-flops.

"You coming in like that?" he asked. Then, "Can you swim?"

He hadn't even considered that.

"Of course I can swim. Not like you can, but I can swim. Just—promise you won't say anything about how I look. Please promise."

Jesper couldn't stop his reaction. What kind of thing was that to say? He wouldn't deny he hadn't always been the nicest guy. Before… well, when he used to go between classes with other guys from the track team, he sort of forgot to be decent. It was just them in the world and—he wasn't exactly sorry that part of his life was over. Some of his teammates would have pushed around someone like his virtuoso. Jesper would've, too. He would have regretted it, but he would have done it. The part of his life where he was that guy, he wasn't sorry it was over.

He didn't take it personally.  _ Promise you won't say anything about how I look. _ The way he just assumed Jesper would mock him wasn't about  _ Jesper _ , but it did make him remember and regret who he had been.

"I can't tell you how cute you look?" he asked.

The half-exasperated smile wasn't quite what Jesper wanted, but a step in the right direction.

"Come on, I bet you're adorable when those curls get all bedraggled."

Riley shook his head, but his smile widened. Watching him smile at Jesper's jokes felt like being handed a prize at the fair. 

"Ooh, am I gonna be jealous? You have nicer abs?"

"Um, p-probably not, yours seem… healthy," he stammered out, blushing.

Jesper grinned. He hauled himself up out of the water, very much enjoying the strangled sound his little virtuoso responded with. For a moment he just stood, dripping pool water everywhere, utterly shameless and loving the quick peeks Riley took. He so obviously wanted to stare. Jesper wanted him to.

"Well?"

"N-no, nope, not as nice, I just—please? Promise?"

He didn't know what this was and he didn't like it, but hey, sometimes an eccentric's got to eccentric, right? And he really liked this guy. 

"Sure," Jesper promised, "won't say a word."

"Thanks."

Riley shed his shoes (loafers!) and left them and his bathrobe on a lounge chair—yes, even his shoes went on the chair. Jesper raised an eyebrow at his bold choice of swim trunks and a t-shirt. Riley caught it and gave Jesper a  _ look _ . Jesper mimed locking his lips shut and chucking the key into the pool. 

"I don't know if you can tell but I threw it, like,  _ right _ over the drain."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. Gonna get sucked down and never retrieved."

"You're going to clog up the filtration system."

With his hypothetical key!

"If it makes you comfortable, I'll clog a thousand filtration systems."

The virtuoso laughed and jumped into the pool. Jesper, with a grin, jumped in after him.

Time dissolved around them. It dissolved in splashes and laughter. As claimed, he could indeed swim, but not well. Jesper offered pointers—"Raise your arms a little higher, look how I'm doing it. Remember, you're not kicking your legs to move, it's just so they don't drag you down."

"That makes perfect sense."

"Of course it does, I said it."

Jesper's virtuoso laughed again.

He swam better now. He couldn't keep up with Jesper, but Jesper slowed down, just staying a few feet ahead. Hey, a guy had to tend his pride!

They swam until Riley was worn out. He insisted he wasn't, but he insisted it with breathless nods. Jesper laughed. "C'mon," he said, half-pulling Riley out of the pool. "Now that we're done, you know the best way to make sure you're not sore the next day?"

"Potassium."

Jesper couldn't help it. The answer, the utter seriousness of the tone… he laughed so hard he leaned on his knees. He felt the sting of the water hitting him before he realized that his virtuoso had shoved him into the pool.

After he had pulled himself out of the pool again, he said, "You're still wrong."

Riley was staring. "Yeah… worth it…"

"This, by the way, is how to be sure you're not sore tomorrow," he said, taking Riley's hand and guiding him toward the hot tub. It was also an  _ excellent _ location to end a date, but that was implied, right? Not that this was a date. Jesper reminded himself that they were only friends as he slipped into the hot water, sighing.

Riley followed. He flinched and gasped.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm fine."

Jesper shifted closer to the cute virtuoso… who responded by leaning against his shoulder with a pleased sigh. Okay, his virtuoso was definitely a cuddly virtuoso. This was good information to have! Jesper wrapped an arm around him, gratified when Riley didn't move away.

"There's an underwater observatory in Eilat," Riley said softly, "it's like a glass room, completely submerged. Can you imagine what it must be like?"

"Yeah," Jesper said, neutral. He did not want to admit that he didn't know where Eilat was, not when Riley just said it like anyone would even though Jesper had mentioned only leaving the state to visit family in Florida.

"Just seeing those fish would be amazing… lionfish and seahorses… it's the closest thing on Earth to being among the stars."

"I never liked the ocean," Jesper said. "A whole world down there and you can't see a bit of it. Any sort of thing might be lurking just below the surface and you wouldn't know. Maybe it wouldn't be so unsettling if I knew what was in there."

They sat quietly for a while, until Jesper knew he was pushing the limits of his curfew. He could have stayed there all night, would have liked to, but they both needed to get back to their respective rooms. The world felt exceptionally cold when he left the hot tub, and Jesper made a half-hearted attempt to towel off (and a full-hearted attempt to show off, to which he was granted the sight of a practically drooling little virtuoso).

"Tomorrow?" Jesper asked.

"I'll be… um, hiding in my room. I'm not really allowed to wander around."

"Right, security," Jesper said. "We'll find a way to make it fun, don't worry. Hang on, you're not allowed to wander around during the day but you're allowed down here at night?"

"Well, I… I…"

"Oh my God." Jesper grinned enormously. "You snuck out!"

"I did not!" The objection would have been much more plausible without the blush.

Jesper just grinned. "I am the best worst influence."

* * *

WYLAN

Wylan felt like a giddy fool and he loved it. He had never had a friend before, but now a vibrant, clever, and exceptionally handsome guy wanted to hang out with him. He had arrived carrying a large plastic bag and told Wylan to wait in the bedroom and play video games, and as strange as that was, Wylan obeyed. He had been playing for a while now. And demolishing a packet of peanut M&M's. He had been to breakfast with his father, but Wylan always had a hard time eating in front of so many people… especially people who happened to be, well… his father.

A muffled obscenity came from the next room.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Wylan called. Onscreen, the monster caught his avatar.

"I'm almost done!"

After another political ad urged him to  _ do what's right for our country _ , Wylan started a new game.

A few minutes later, his boyfriend returned and gleefully insisted on blindfolding Wylan; Wylan didn't have a bandana, so he let the other boy wind a tie twice over his eyes and knot it at the back of his head. He could still see a little. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"This way. No, not—it's okay. I've got you."

Wylan took missteps on purpose. When they got to the next room, he would remove the blindfold. It was impossible to imagine anything nicer than Hale's warm, rough hands around his. He could feel the contours of those calluses every day for the rest of his life and die happy. He wondered if he could draw them based solely on how they felt.

"Okay!"

Mister Hale fumbled with the knot, then swept the tie off Wylan's eyes. Wylan clapped his hands to his mouth.

The sitting room had been thoroughly decorated: paper fish taped to the windows, seahorse confetti strewn over the carpet, a fishing net over the mini-fridge, jellyfish lanterns taped to the ceiling. No, he didn't walk into the room and literally think he was underwater in the Gulf of Aqaba, but he walked into the room and saw that someone had put a lot of time and effort into turning his boring hotel room into an ocean-themed hangout.

"This is amazing! This is… you did this?"

Hale rolled his eyes (he had really nice eyes, unfairly nice eyes). "No, it just  _ happened _ . You're welcome."

"It's amazing.  _ You're _ amazing."

What Wylan hadn't wanted to say, even though it was just as obvious, was,  _ you did this for me? _ He was a bit floored that someone would do something like this for him.

Then his first-ever friend said, "I'm a drug addict."

* * *

JESPER

Why had he done that? Why the hell had he done that, why the fucktons of stinking hell had he… but Jesper knew. He really liked this guy and wanted him to know the truth of who Jesper was. He was a good enough guy and Jesper knew Riley thought he was hot, but he was far from perfect. And he still held out hope they might be more than friends. If that happened, Riley ought to know the truth about Jesper.

Saying it felt weird. He'd said it before—with affected sincerity in group, with dark humor to Nina, dripping sarcasm to others. He only told the joke in front of Kaz once. Nina would laugh with him, a few former teammates had awkwardly told Jesper they were glad he was doing better. Kaz had narrowed his eyes after Jesper made a joke about being a drug addict. Kaz had said,  _ You are a drug addict, Jes. _

But he wasn't. Yes, Jesper did the things drug addicts did, but he wasn't a drug addict, not like… not like that. He used. He had made some really bad decisions to keep using. 

But he was clean now.

He didn't know what to do next, caught up in his thoughts. Riley seemed… lost. He returned impressively with, "Let's sit down." He took Jesper's elbow and guided him to—what were those miniature couches called? He couldn't remember, just sat. Cutie sat beside him.

"Recovering," Jesper explained. "I started drinking at parties when I was fifteen, but last year it got past alcohol. I barely passed any classes my second semester of sophomore year. Spent the first part of junior year in rehab. Da had to spend most of my college fund—seventeen years of saving every penny he could and—that's… that's why I'm not going to college. I just… it's hard to explain. I love him and I hate that I hurt him, but the reminders that I'm not a good son get tiring. You've seen me text him like six dozen times, right? He worries."

"I get it," Riley said. "I know what it's like to feel like you're not a good enough son."

He gave Jesper's hand a squeeze.

Jesper scoffed. "What father could be disappointed in you? Like you've ever done anything bad!"

"I have."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, looking to Riley. He would love to hear what this cute, nerdy virtuoso had  _ ever _ done that was bad.

"Yeah!" Riley insisted, his chin set defiantly. 

"Give me  _ one _ example. Did you use the wrong fork at dinner?"

"First of all, yes, and second of all, I just—it's not the things I do, it's the way I am. I can be difficult. I say the wrong things, I'm not good at anything that matters. I can draw and play the flute, and… that's about it. I'm pretty good at math and science, but overall I do so poorly in school it doesn't matter. I'll never be a man. What father wants a son who can never be a man?"

Jesper was a screw-up. An  _ actual _ screw-up. He had lied. He had skipped school. He had taken money out of his da's wallet to score and the worst part about that? It had happened multiple times. And none of them had been the reason he stopped. He knew it was wrong, he  _ felt _ how wrong it was, but as much as he had wanted that feeling to stop, he’d wanted drugs more. He had said things it hurt to remember now—he’d said he hated his father. Said that right to his face.

So when the boy beside him laid out that he was a bad son because he liked to draw and played the flute, Jesper almost would have laughed. Almost. But he heard that his sweet virtuoso meant that.

"If your father is disappointed in you, he's the problem. You're brilliant  _ and  _ talented? I know he doesn't want a gay son but that doesn't mean you're not a man. It means he's not."

Riley didn't respond for a while. He sat quietly, looking away. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but stopped himself.

Finally he asked, "How long have you been sober?"

"Six months," Jesper said. "Six months, one week, two days. They're not real big on letting you forget."

"Your da must be proud of you. You made mistakes, but every day you get to do it right. He sees how much you care."

Jesper wasn't sure it worked that way. He thought about how Da had showed up in Starbucks and the mixed emotions in his eyes, the love and hope and fear, when he agreed to allow Jesper to meet his boyfriend the next night. That was how he looked at Jesper now. Scared for him.

"That's one way to look at it. Or maybe he sees all the mistakes I made."

With a sincere smile, Riley said, "I'm not going to say you didn't make mistakes, but I think there's more good in you than bad."

Jesper's phone buzzed, spoiling the moment. He sighed. "I have to get it."

"Of course."

After he had texted back— _ I'm okay _ —he asked, "Hey, do you watch topical comedy? Colbert or John Oliver or anything?"

Riley shook his head. "What's that?" he asked, and Jesper felt his mouth curling into a grin. Well someone was about to learn the most important lesson of his life.

Pulling up YouTube on his phone, Jesper promised, "You're going to love this."

He thought about starting with one of the episodes on LGBT rights, but Riley was new to topical comedy and to thinking of himself as 'gay'. Maybe something that  _ wouldn't _ give him a heart attack was called for. Instead, he chose an episode about the president of Turkmenistan. 

Jesper liked the show, but he had a better one. As his friend watched John Oliver, Jesper watched him. He reacted initially with a sort of mild puzzlement, then slowly began to smile, and finally, after two and a half minutes, he laughed.

_ "...one of the worst places on Earth. That is quite a claim, especially considering the Earth includes Syria, North Korea, and Twitter." _

It should have been scientifically impossible, but his cuteness actually increased when he laughed. The usual seriousness disappeared. For twenty minutes he kept his eyes on the screen, laughing, and Jesper watched his cheeks turn pink with amusement rather than embarrassment. Riley didn't know how over-the-top John Oliver could be and occasionally had to react—"They got the book?!" and "That's a real cake!" Even a few slightly startled gasps at the naughty parts—Jesper had forgotten that this episode included a solid 60-second bit on horse fucking.

"That was awesome!" was his final assessment. "Okay, that was—that was weird, but that was great. That…"

"Welcome to topical comedy."  
  
"Does he ever talk about—I mean, is he… gay or anything?"    
  
He still said 'gay' the way Jesper's da pronounced the Creole names of dishes his ma used to make. Ma said it was one of the reasons she loved him, not because he was so bad at saying the names but because as foreign as they were to him, he always tried. He learnt the words he couldn't say. He might not always like Haitian food and never developed a taste for anything spicier than a cherry pepper, but he had always tried the things she cooked.    
  
Maybe it wasn't a perfect comparison, but Riley was taking his first hesitant steps out of the closet with Jesper playing queer Virgil.   
  
"As far as I know, he's straight. He's got a wife, anyway," Jesper said, "and he's never indicated he might be bi or pan, but he's an ally."   
  
"Oh. Would you mind going over the terminology again?"   
  
While they watched the video, Riley had leaned against Jesper, something that was absolutely okay with him. Jesper resettled himself against Riley before he began to explain. He knew he wasn't covering all possible ground, but went into as much detail as seemed necessary to explain the concepts, trying to keep the terminology limited since this was all new.    
  


* * *

  
  
WYLAN   
  
_ Technically _ he was being manipulative. Only technically. Wylan really did want to know more about the words for different orientations; he had a difficult time keeping them straight. Well—perhaps that wasn't the best way to phrase it, he thought. He was having a hard time remembering. It was new and complicated information.    
  
That wasn't the only reason he asked. He just liked listening to his friend talk. Wylan could listen to that soothing baritone for hours. He let his mind come untethered, not thinking, just… listening. Enjoying.   
  
It took a moment for Wylan to realize that not only had Hale stopped talking, he was looking expectantly at Wylan.   
  
"Sorry?"   
  
"It's okay if you don't want to answer."   
  
"No, I just—I wasn't paying attention." Inwardly, Wylan winced at how stupid he sounded. "Would you mind repeating the question?"   
  
His father would have offered to stop the conversation if it was getting too complicated for Wylan. He could understand it. At least… Wylan was pretty sure he could understand it! He thought he deserved a chance to try. A second chance. He felt the tension in his arms as he resisted the urge to curl his shoulders.   
  
Almost gently, Hale said, "I asked what else you thought someone like you was called. You don't have to tell me."   
  
"I just thought it was called being a homo. I didn't think 'gay' was an okay word," Wylan admitted. "Whenever my father's friends talk about the 'gay agenda' it sounds so sinister."   
  
"So your father just says  _ that _ like it's okay?"

He nodded. He'd heard the word a lot. There was even one in his father's political party—okay, there were probably a few, but one his father worked with and knew about.  _ Nice guy, for a homo _ , his father would say— _ if _ he liked someone. He had far stronger words if he didn't.

"Is there a reason it's not? I mean, 'homosexual' is okay, right?"

"Eh… it's diagnostic, from when being gay was seen as a mental illness, but you can call yourself whatever you like. Just make sure you have the right reasons. What does your mom say? Is she more supportive?"

Wylan looked away. Several years on and the wound was still raw. 

"I'm sorry."

"She left," he explained.

Why did it still hurt? She had been gone for years; by now Wylan understood the reason. She had left because of him. Maybe she left because his father's political career had been going so well and she didn't want the whole world seeing her with a son like him—Father never said as much, didn't need to say as much. Wylan was glad he had worked it out. It hurt, but on empty nights, he reminded himself that his father loved him enough to be associated with him out in front of everyone. He just wasn't an affectionate man. It didn't mean he wasn't loving.

"My ma's dead. Since I was a kid."

Wylan reached for his friend's hand and held on. He wasn't good with words. They got all mixed up or fell out in a rush. Hopefully this was clear enough a way to say that he understood the pain of losing a parent. For a while, they were quiet. Then Hale pulled him close; after a stunned moment, Wylan snuggled nearer. He couldn't remember the last time someone held him that way. He took a deep breath. He wanted to breathe this moment, wanted to hit the pause button and make it stay forever.

* * *

_ Summary (in case you skipped due to trigger warning): Jesper picked the lock on the hotel pool after hours. Wylan made Jesper promise not to say anything about how he looked, which Jesper did. He helped Wylan improve his swimming technique and Wylan talked about an underwater aquarium he wanted to visit. The following day, Jesper decorated the sitting room in Wylan's suite to look ocean-themed. He shared with Wylan that he was a recovering drug addict with six months of sobriety and talked about the strain this put on his relationship with his father. Wylan accepted Jesper, explaining that he too had disappointed his father. The boys watched Last Week Tonight (which Wylan had never seen) and shared their experiences of losing their mothers, then fell asleep together on the couch. _


	5. Just a Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad Jesper and Nina's friendship in this fic went over well! I really thought they would've been such good friends in the books if not for their fundamental differences of opinion re: "not bugging me about joining the Ravkan Second Army".
> 
>  **TW:** emotional/psychological abuse, ableism, physical abuse (canon-typical Jan Van Eck); homophobia

WYLAN

"Good evening, sir!" 

The too-loud greeting from outside the room blew the fog off of Wylan's mind. For a few blessed seconds, he woke slowly, unaware of anything but the comfort of a friend beside him…

Then he realized what he had heard and woke up in a panic.

"Get up," Wylan said, shaking the other boy. "Get up, shh, you have to hide! Please—I'm sorry—please, you—"

"Okay, okay," he said, rubbing his eyes as he slid off the bed.

Wylan glanced frantically to the door. He was grateful for the warning. He could only pray it would be enough— _Our Father who art in Heaven, protect me, Lord, please._ He didn't know what his earthly father would do if he found Wylan with another boy in his room. It didn't matter that the encounter had been innocent, that they were only friends; Jan had worried about Wylan for a long time. The last thing he needed was a reason to think his son had a boyfriend. Besides, he liked to monitor with whom Wylan became close, concerned about his defect being discovered and rendering them both a laughingstock.

Luckily Hale didn't ask too many questions, just slipped into the sitting room and out of sight. Wylan breathed a sigh of relief just as his father stepped through the doorway.

Jan Van Eck was an imposing man. All his life, Wylan had been sensed that something set his father apart from other men. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he dominated any room he walked into—it was different. His presence made Wylan stand a little straighter, it always had. He wasn't sure when it made his heart twist in fear, but it did that, too. 

Now as Wylan stood under his father's appraising and openly displeased eye, he fought the urge to look away and shudder. Father wouldn't like that, wouldn't like either of those. More than anything, Wylan hoped he wouldn't around his father's suspicions that someone else had been in this room. Was the bed too mussed? Were there too many snack wrappers?

"You're not dressed."

Wylan was, in fact, dressed.  
  
Father meant he wasn't dressed for dinner. It wasn't complicated, being prepared for these things, only called for a dress shirt, tie, and slacks, but Wylan's clothes were rumpled from being slept in.

"I'm sorry." He truly was. "I know you expected me to be ready, but I… I lost track of time. I was napping."  
  
"Napping," his father repeated, his tone sparking a shiver of warning. He sighed. "Perhaps I've been unfair to you, Wylan. I thought you could handle this responsibility, but perhaps it was too complicated for you."  
  
Wylan blushed. He knew he wasn't smart, but he wasn't that stupid! "I can manage dressing myself."  
  
Father didn't need words. He simply cast an appraising eye over Wylan and let him reach the conclusion of his blatant incompetence. He looked away… and his heart just about stopped. There, kicked aside under one of the chairs, was a sneaker that most definitely did not belong to him.  
  
"You have ten minutes, get yourself ready. We're having dinner with James—"  
  
"The guy from Hearts in the Home?" Wylan asked, dreading the answer.  
  
He didn't want his friend hearing that name. Wylan had grown up with that man a frequent presence. When he was younger, he'd called him Uncle James. That was before Wylan understood what conversion was. And that his "uncle" James was not only a supporter but a public proponent of it… and so was his organization, Hearts in the Home.  
  
"Don't embarrass me."  
  
"Maybe I could sit this one out?" he suggested. Seeing the displeased _no_ his father was about to give him, Wylan pressed, "Please, Father, I don't want to—"  
  
The expression should have been enough. It should have warned Wylan to be silent, his father shouldn't have needed to raise a hand to remind him.  
  
Hot with humiliation and the sting in his cheek, Wylan went quiet. He let his head hang.  
  
"You know why I've kept him in your life."  
  
Wylan nodded with a soft, "Yes, sir."  
  
The shoe. The shoe, the boy currently hiding in the next room, Wylan blushed hotter realizing he must have heard the slap. He would be hearing all of this.  
  
"I'm trying to help you."  
  
"I know."  
  
“That life is Godless. I know you see it in the media and it looks ‘cool’, but that is not real life. Those people don’t live happy lives, they don’t make families. You’re too simple to understand how a boy like you would be used.”  
  
“I’m not,” Wylan objected, speaking more for Hale than for his father. He wasn’t too stupid to know he felt good and safe and happy with Hale, that he didn't think Hale could ever use him.  
  
He was too stupid to keep his mouth shut.  
  
“Bring me your phone.”  
  
Wylan didn’t bother arguing. Normally he was smart about it, but he had once run some basic searches about boys being attracted to boys. He had looked at pictures of guys kissing other guys, and even though it wasn’t graphic stuff, his father had been furious no matter how many times Wylan protested that he was just curious because of something he saw on TV. Betrayed that Wylan would want that lifestyle and afraid for what could happen to him, he made clear that Wylan’s phone belonged to the man who paid for it and would be made available by request.  
  
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, relieved that Hale had taken his, and offered it to his father. If he looked through the texts…  
  
But he didn’t. He scanned a few things, then handed the phone back to Wylan. Mostly, Wylan looked at graphite art. He watched videos on astronomy, listened to recordings of the great Bobbi Humphrey playing her flute.  
  
“I’m the only parent you have, Wylan, the only person in this world who will ever truly love you. I’m trying to protect you from your own feeble mind. You think I’m the villain here. That’s only because you don’t realize how you can be taken advantage of.”  
  
He didn't say 'feeble mind' as an insult. It was just a fact, like when they were somewhere especially sunny and Father reminded Wylan that someone as fair as he was needed to take extra precautions. Wylan burned easily. And he was a fool.  
  
"I do. I know, Father, I'm grateful to you. I shouldn't… I'm sorry. I'll get dressed and meet you in the lobby?"  
  
His father hesitated. This was the only way Wylan would have a chance to say anything to his… he couldn't think the word. To Hale. If his father stayed, Wylan wouldn't be able to say anything much at all, he wouldn't have a chance to explain.  
  
"You will be polite and presentable. You will make every effort not to embarrass me tonight."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good. Ten minutes."  
  
Wylan stood still as his father left. Then, shaking slightly, he began counting. He would say _it's okay to come out now_ at fifteen. He just needed a moment, because he felt like the world was cracking. For a few days, he got to step out from his father's shadow, and those days were broken open. For a few days, he had a chance not to be who and what he was. Even if Hale still wanted anything to do with him, he knew who Wylan was. That meant Wylan couldn't overlook it, either. How could he not feel the crush of that ending?  
  
He didn't get to fifteen.  
  
"My da says you never know what's going on behind closed doors. Does he always treat you that way?"  
  
Wylan wanted to focus on that shoe, the left-out sneaker his father had not noticed. Instead he raised his chin and made himself look Hale in the eyes.  
  
"I shouldn't have disrespected him."  
  
"You didn't. Like, not even a little bit."  
  
But he had. He had whined. He had been childish. With only a few more months until the convention, increasing scrutiny with the upcoming election, Wylan's role was to be where he could be of most help, not to create more problems in an already extremely stressful time.  
  
"I'll, um, I'll text you later, okay?" he said.  
  
"Okay. Looking forward to it."

* * *

  
  


JESPER

When Colm Fahey walked into his hotel room that evening, he found his son bent over a trigonometry textbook. A small snowstorm of crumpled notebook pages surrounded him, but he was getting his stupid math homework done.  
  
"Jes, are you studying?"  
  
"Don't want to fall behind!" Jesper chirped. His father's expression called BS and Jesper amended, "I wanted to do what you'd want me to do. You know, because I love you and stuff. I know I haven't been the best son but I'm lucky to have you."  
  
Colm placed a hand on Jesper's forehead.  
  
Jesper batted it away. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Checking for fever."  
  
Jesper tossed a crumpled sheet of paper at him.  
  
His da looked exhausted. Jesper had noticed, sure, that Colm was getting older, but he looked stressed, too. The past few days hadn't been easy for him. He was a genuine, honest, and direct man. He was, in brief, far outside his depth.  
  
Jesper wanted to ask how Colm's day had been, but Colm was quicker: "Have fun with your mystery boy?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Colm didn't understand Jesper's orientation, but he understood that he'd had a girlfriend last year and had a… hopefully a near-future boyfriend. He had a guy now. And Colm didn't ask questions, just accepted.  
  
"We went up to the garden on the roof and then watched crappy shark movies and he's really sweet, he's like stu—um, he's really sweet." _Stupidly sweet_ , but after what Jesper heard Riley's father say to him, he didn't want to even think of him endearingly as stupid anything. "Do you think it's okay… to think about him seriously? Like maybe it would be cool if he went to college in the state? Is it too much for me to think about that already?"  
  
"I don't think it hurts to dream a little. I was ready to marry your ma five minutes after meeting her."  
  
Jesper laughed softly. "You were not."  
  
His da was many things, but he was not a romantic.  
  
"I was."  
  
A question burned on the tip of Jesper's tongue. He didn't want to ask it. But he wanted to know. They didn't talk much about her; he knew, if he asked, that Da would tell him. He had always known that. It's why he had never asked. He knew how much answering would hurt. Now, with Da volunteering the subject…  
  
"How did you meet her? And how did you wind up in Iowa of all places? I mean… you and Ma…"  
  
"You mean how did you become the only Welsh-Haitian boy in your school?"  
  
People didn't look at him and think, _Now there's a Welshman's son!_ Jesper kept that thought to himself. He didn't think of himself as any more his ma's son than his da's, but he knew other people did, and sometimes it made him feel like he was so conspicuous he might as well be invisible.  
  
There weren't many places to sit in the room; Colm chose the end of Jesper's bed.  
  
"We met in Florida."  
  
"Florida? What were you doing in Florida?"  
  
"I was getting a sunburn," Colm said, so matter-of-factly Jesper laughed. "And your mother was staying with her cousins in Little Haiti."  
  
Jesper knew which cousins his da meant. He only saw them rarely, and when he did, _his_ cousins always brought up how he barely spoke any Haitian Creole. He remembered a little from what his ma taught him, but he had been so young then.  
  
"She was in an argument with Rosaline. She had tucked lavender behind her ear and she was telling Rosaline—she was reciting. _The New Colossus_ . 'Send these, the homeless tempest-tossed to me.'"  
  
"'I lift my lamp beside the golden door,'" they finished together.  
  
"I remember," Jesper said, smiling.  
  
Those were some of his best and clearest memories of his mother. She never read him bedtime stories. She recited poems, and not simple ones. She entrusted her son with the deeper truths of the world when she tucked him into bed. He remembered her dry palm on his cheek, the way she tucked the blankets around him.  
  
"She had just graduated and gone to work in her uncle's restaurant for the summer while she looked for a permanent job. Instead, she and I went off on a road trip, no aims in mind. Lord knows what she saw in me, but there must have been something. And do you know something, Jes? Our car broke down in Iowa."  
  
Jesper's eyebrows jumped. "We live in corn country because _your car broke down?_ "  
  
"We live in corn country because our car broke down and your ma and I were in love with each other and the land. We spent nearly all we had on the farm instead of fixing that old car and wouldn't you know it, the year after we paid off the loans we'd needed, we found you in the vegetable patch."  
  
Jesper snorted. He knew perfectly well where he had come from, and frankly preferred to have his da claim it was the garden!  
  
"I love you, Da."  
  
"I love you, too, but you're worrying me, son. If you don't want to tell me what's happened—hold on—I have it—here."  
  
Colm took several pieces of paper from his pocket. They were wrinkled enough that he had certainly been carrying them for days. As he smoothed them, Jesper was torn between being touched and angry. Da had been carrying a printout of twelve-step meetings nearby.  
  
He settled on anger.  
  
Really? Was Jesper such an absolute shit of a son that only a relapse could explain his saying he loved his father?  
  
"I was just—no, Da! I'm not using!"

"All right. That's good. But you know if anything happens you can tell me."

_My friend's father hits him. I hid and didn't even try to help him. I still don't know what I was supposed to do._

"Maybe my new friend's a good influence."

"If he's had that much of an influence on you in a day and a half, I want to meet this lad."

Jesper scoffed. "No way. What if you like him more than you like me?"

* * *

The text came through at nearly ten. Jesper wasn't remotely tired, but he was trying not to let his bubbling energy make him too fidgety and distracting for his da, who was already in bed. Since that afternoon, Jesper hadn't been far from his phone—not that he usually was. He'd traded about a dozen texts with Nina as he waited.

  
JESPER  
He said he'd text.  
Still waiting :(  
:( :( :(  
Not sure how to tell you.  
I want to kiss him. He has pretty lips.

NINA  
TEXT HIM LOSER.

JESPER  
Waiting.

NINA  
TEXT.

JESPER  
Can't. It's complicated.

NINA  
??? After 2 days? They must be the prettiest lips.

JESPER  
Prettiest lips + eyes but it's more than that.

NINA  
Hair?

JESPER  
Also prettiest. Everything prettiest.

NINA  
EVERYTHING

JESPER  
Not the time Nina!!

He almost overlooked the notification, because he didn't know how to tell Nina. This was… it was too much. Too big for him. Jesper knew he could step away. He had only known this guy for two days, and even though he knew Riley's real name, he didn't use it, even to himself. He imagined Riley wanted to preserve their anonymity to one another. Jesper didn't blame him.

So when the notification popped up, Jesper initially dismissed it and turned away. Then he looked again and sat bolt upright.

"Da? Da, are you awake?"

Colm sighed sleepily. "What is it?" he asked.

Jesper offered him the phone. "Please, Da?" _I have to go see him._ He wanted to, but didn't, say it. That was not how Jesper wanted to sound, not without explaining why he needed an ending to what felt unfinished earlier.

Colm squinted at the screen.

CUTIE  
Want to come stargazing with me? I'll be in the garden for the next hour. Hoping to see you.

"It's late, Jesper. Take a sweater."

"Yes! I will. Thanks, Da."

Jesper grabbed a hoodie and headed up to the rooftop garden. He wasn't sure what he had expected at this hour, but the first thing he noticed was that there was a chill in the air. He pulled on his hoodie. Other than that, it was like the city again, but muted. There were cars, few and far below, and the occasional distance honk. Jesper was used to seeing millions of stars. The sky was muffled here thanks to noise pollution. It sparkled enough.

But for two figures, the garden was empty. He headed for those two figures. He gave a one-handed wave as he came close. The smaller figure, the one he could now tell was his boyfriend, waved back. The federal agent beside him didn't respond. Jesper was getting used to that.

"Hey," Jesper said.

What were you supposed to say after witnessing… after witnessing firsthand Jan Van Eck? _I'm sorry your father's a homophobe? I'm sorry your father mistreats you? I'm sorry I hid and let him do that?_

So he just said hey.

"Hey."

His voice was thick and sad.

"About earlier—"

"I don't want to talk about earlier," Riley—Jesper felt foolish calling him that now, but—interrupted. "Do you think we could ignore it, just for a little while, and enjoy each other's company?"

How did you just ignore a thing like that? Jesper swallowed. He felt sick from hearing it, from listening to it; he wanted to say something. He wanted to know what to say and he didn't. 

"Your company's pretty easy to enjoy, gorgeous," Jesper said. Because he didn't know what to say. Because he just wanted to be with Riley. 

They laid down on a blanket that had definitely been 'borrowed' from the bedroom and they looked up at the too-few stars.

"So, you're the astronomy genius. Tell me something spacey."

He pointed, his hand coming into Jesper's line of sight: "See that, the one that isn't twinkling? That's Venus. You can tell a planet from a star because planets, since they're so much closer, look bigger. Not that you can tell across over a hundred million kilometers. It's just, relatively, the distortion is so minor there's no apparent astronomical scintillation—twinkling."

Jesper laughed. Imagine using such a massive term for something as small as twinkling stars. He kind of adored that Riley did, though.

Not sure what to say, he reached for his friend's hand and laced their fingers together. Riley squeezed. Jesper squeezed back.

"Thanks for coming."

"I'm surprised you were able to get away. Wouldn't have thought you were allowed, with... you know." Jesper half-discretely indicated the muscle-bound secret agent type standing a few feet away.

"Agent Helvar approved this excursion."

"He seems serious."

"He's really nice. I'm not supposed to have a favorite, but…"

"But you do."

He laughed. "But I do."

They laughed a lot over the next half hour, murmuring to each other and staring up at the stars, and though Jesper did not get the kiss Nina had insisted he ought to have, he did learn the way Riley breathed and how his hand felt holding tight to Jesper's. Jesper made him laugh so hard he rolled onto his side to hold his aching belly, then coaxed him to lie on his back again and enjoy the stars he loved so much.

Jesper wasn't sure how long they had been up here when Riley told him, softly, "This is the only place I feel close to God."

Jesper didn't know what to say to that. He knew religion was important to Riley in a way it just wasn't to Jesper. There was something swelling his voice as he said it, something held and something given and something real all at once.

"We're 4.367 light years from Alpha Centauri, more than four and a half trillion miles. I can't understand that. I understand the numbers, but the sheer vastness of distance, the amount we don't understand, it's so much. The galaxy is huge. So many stars and so much space between them. How many are suns? Is there life on other planets? Does the same God watch over them, too? He must know and understand so much. It makes me feel small, but… not ashamed."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Jesper said.  
  
"Remember the other day when you asked if I wanted to be your boyfriend?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
The first boy he had ever asked out? Sure, Jesper had a vague memory of such an event…  
  
"Did you mean it?"  
  
What kind of question—but Jesper knew. It was probably the sort of question you asked when you were raised by a man who smacked you around and called you names.  
  
"Did I really want a beautiful, talented guy to go out with me? Hmm… yeah," Jesper said. "I wanted that."  
  
"I… I'd like to be your boyfriend." The words were so soft Jesper almost didn't catch them over his pounding heart. "If you still mean it. I'm sorry for what I said. I thought you were making fun of me. I thought…"  
  
He took Riley's hand and pressed his lips to the other boy's cold fingers. He had miserable circulation, but a fantastic boyfriend and that was a heck of a trade.  
  
"I'd like that. I'd like _you_."  
  
They laid together in the dark after that, holding onto each other and looking up at the stars. Jesper had a _boyfriend_ . Sure, a boyfriend who would only be here a few more days, a boyfriend he would need to find creative ways to keep in contact with… but a brilliant, creative, sweet boyfriend. And he was perfectly happy to lay there with just his boyfriend and that thought.  
  
He didn't know how much time passed before the muscled lump—Agent Helvar, Jesper reminded himself—cleared his throat.  
  
Apparently Riley understood, because he said, "Five more minutes. Then I need to go."  
  
"We'll have to think of something really fun for tomorrow."  
  
"More fun than having a perfect boyfriend?"  
  
Jesper grinned. "Well, I'll be doing that, but you need something to do, too."


	6. ...and the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief discussion in this chapter of what it means to be non-binary. As with all potentially sensitive material in the story, I did my best to make it accurate and appropriate; if you see any errors, please, please tell me and I will alter the chapter.
> 
>  **TW:** psychological child abuse/intimidation (Jan Van Eck)

WYLAN

_4 years ago_

  
Wylan had positioned his music stand carefully, so he could stand in the sunlight without getting glare off the pages. It was a challenging piece—in truth, he could play a 4/4 easily, but he was a little intimidated when he saw 16 notes in one measure. He had the introduction mastered; it was andantino, fast and playful, and although it was challenging, playing it felt the same. It didn’t feel like some of the more serious pieces. Most of the piece was allegrissimo, very fast, and Wylan had ran out of air and left himself in coughing fits trying to learn it.

But he wasn’t a kid. He was almost 13! If he couldn’t play 15 measures, he didn’t deserve to call himself a flautist or an almost-teenager. He might as well stick to being a “pre-teen”, which technically so were infants.

Wylan was not an infant. He was a flautist.

He took in a breath, raised the flute to his lips…

Andantino. Playful. The notes leapt from his instrument as they ought to. His heart thumped in heavy anticipation as he waited out the rests—the piece was written for a whole orchestra, not one almost-13-year-old. Wylan practiced his breathing like his teacher instructed. It ought to be second nature by now, but sometimes he still needed reminders.

He had practiced and practiced, and it paid off now as his fingers seemed to dance from the keys, notes pouring out of him. He nearly ran out of air three measures from the end, but the sound had been so right, he had to see it through. He felt like he was scraping the very bottom of his lungs as the last note flew from his flute. Wylan gave a giddy, breathless little hop of excitement. 

Perfect!

All right, not perfect-perfect, but nearly perfect, so close he just knew he would get it tomorrow! 

For today, the clock said his time was almost up. Wylan disassembled his flute and gave each piece a thorough rub with the polish cloth before laying it away safely in its case.

“Until next time,” he promised, sliding it onto his shelf. His fingertips lingered just a few extra seconds, anticipating the moment they once more held his flute.

Then he headed downstairs. Wylan expected to find a foil-wrapped plate in the fridge. He was too old for a babysitter, but his father paid a housekeeper who left him dinner. Wylan wasn’t exactly capable but even he could manage microwaving food. On the way to the kitchen, he stopped short. Rather than a clean, bare table in the dining room, he saw two place settings.

Wylan froze. This could only mean one thing.

He grinned and darted into the sitting room. There, as expected, was Jan Van Eck. He sat on the sofa, his cuffs unbuttoned, jacket folded over the back of a chair.

“Father!”

Wylan sat on the sofa beside him and half-twisted in his seat to give his father a hug. Could this day be better? Father was almost never home this early during the week! 

After a moment, Jan patted Wylan’s shoulder.

“I heard you playing your flute,” he remarked.

Wylan sat back on the sofa. “It’s Peter and the Wolf,” he said. “I think I really have it down now. Did you like it?”

“Yes, very nicely done.” Jan reached for a cut glass tumbler and drained the last of his whiskey. “Your reading must be coming along well for you to have so much time for frivolous things.”

Wylan looked down at his knees, his good mood draining out of him. He worked his mouth but couldn’t find words to put in it. His reading was not coming along well. His reading was not coming along at all.

“Wylan,” Jan chided gently, “music is not a future.”

Wasn’t it? His music teacher said it was. She told him he was talented, that he could play at Carnegie Hall one day.

“I’ll try harder,” Wylan promised, even though he had tried. He had tried his 100% hardest for years and years, but the letters did not stop squirming. Sometimes he tried to sit very, very still like he could trick them, like they would turn off the way lights sometimes did if you sat very still. It didn’t help.

Jan nodded.

Wylan wanted to curl his shoulders, but made himself sit up straight. On second thought, his music teacher probably told all her students they could play at Carnegie Hall one day.

“Is tonight a special occasion?” he asked. 

It wasn’t his birthday for nearly two months yet and Wylan had already had a lot of time with his father that month. A governor was always busy—especially one like his father who stood for the traditional values that were constantly under attack. They had been together on the Fourth of July just over a week ago. Jan had been busy, but he had been there with Wylan.

Before Jan could answer, they were interrupted by the housekeeper telling them dinner was on the table.

One look at the table and Wylan knew this was a special occasion. His father had a taste for the finer things, but an inclination toward restraint as well. Having steak for dinner wasn’t so rare, but a chateaubriand? That was a celebration.

His father still kept him waiting until after dinner to share his news. They ate quietly.

“Wylan,” Jan said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m going to be President.”

“President?” Wylan asked. “Isn’t the candidate already chosen?”

“Oh, I won’t be starting as President, I’ll be Vice President first. They’ve asked me to join the ticket. But he’s an idiot who can’t leave his bed without committing a sin; the American people won’t tolerate him for more than a year.”

President. Wylan had always known his father was a brilliant politician, but President? Wow! And the person he chose to share that news with was Wylan.

Jan cleared his throat. “This is going to put us both in the national spotlight—me more than you, but it’s inevitable you’ll attract some attention. It’s going to be difficult, especially for someone with your… challenges. If you don’t feel equal to the task, I will tell them to find another Vice President.”

Jan Van Eck could seem cold, but his son knew better. He was just stressed these days and Wylan—well, having a son like that, having a girlish defect as his only son wasn’t easy for such a proud, accomplished man. But before putting his name on the ticket for a federal election, Jan sat with his son and offered to put his dream aside, just to spare Wylan the potential shame of having his incapacities revealed publicly.

* * *

_Present Day_

“Wylan.”

Wylan startled awake.

“Father?”

He rarely saw his father this early. Wylan pushed himself into a sitting position, mind racing. There could only be one explanation for Jan’s presence in Wylan’s room—he knew about last night. What could Wylan say? Maybe Jan only knew he had been up on the roof with another boy, maybe Wylan could explain that they were just friends. That was plausible, right? Just friends. 

It was okay to have friends.

He was going to be in so much trouble…

“I need you with me today,” Jan said.

Wylan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Was this a trick? Maybe Jan was giving Wylan a chance to come clean on his own. Or… maybe he just wanted to keep Wylan away from his boyfriend? Friend, his friend! Even thinking the word ‘boyfriend’ in Jan’s presence felt risky, like he would see the sin in Wylan’s eyes.

Jan held his gaze for a long moment. Wylan forced himself to sit still and not squirm.

Then Jan gave a single nod and stood. 

“That fool has done it again. He’s seen his support flagging in the rural states and what does he do?” Jan tossed a newspaper on the bed; Wylan wasn’t sure if it was an intentional slight. Sometimes his father was too wrapped up in his frustration to remember Wylan’s failure. “ _They don’t have the vision to understand what I’m doing, they can’t see what’s really good for our country. Of course they love America, it’s just, it’s big. This country’s really big. I mean it’s… it’s huge. They don’t get it. And that’s okay, I love the farmers and the farmers love me. Yeah, they’re gonna vote for me. Who else are they going to vote for, Pocahontas? Sleepy Joe? I’m really their only choice._ Get up, you're wasting time!”

Startled by the shift in his father’s tone, Wylan scrambled out of bed. He went for the closet to choose something to wear.

“It’s going to be a long one,” Jan said, “but voters have always responded well to you. I need your help today.”

Any doubts Wylan had disappeared. Any uncertainty, any nervousness, any reservations—they were gone. His father wanted his help! The thought warmed him through. He could be useful, would be useful.

“I’ll do all I can, Father,” he promised.

Jan nodded. “Good. He can’t even keep his mouth shut in an election year… I’m counting on you.”

Wylan stood up straighter.

“They should know by now they're not to ask you anything too complicated, but Wylan…” Jan began, and Wylan stilled. “Wylan, this is Iowa. These people are farmers, do you understand? Your mannerisms… I tolerate at it at home, but here you need to act like a boy. I know you can do this.”

Wylan’s chin dipped; he understood, but understanding stung.

Jan’s voice was sharp: “Wylan!”

“I’m sorry!” He quickly straightened up. His father wasn't always so short with him; Wylan knew it was the stress. 

Jan nodded. “Better. Get dressed, wash your face, brush your teeth. Marisa will come by in a few minutes.”

Marisa—the woman who handled his father’s makeup. It must have been a significant gaffe if they were expecting so much media attention over it.

After his father left, Wylan sent a carefully composed text to his boyfriend—the word fluttered, warm and secret inside him—explaining that his father needed him this morning. Could they meet in the afternoon? The answer came a few seconds later.

MISTER HALE  
:(  
Ok  
Because you’re worth waiting for ;)

He was so nice! Wylan really wished he knew how to change the contact name. He could change it to… well, not to ‘my amazing boyfriend’ because what if his father saw, but to something else. 

He dressed and washed up as instructed, and sat still while Marisa made up him for the cameras. She gelled and combed his hair to lie flat. Marisa was friendly, always chatting as she did her job, but it wasn’t show. She remembered things—asked about his music, if he was looking forward to the Lyrid meteor shower. Sure, she made him look like a tax accountant who had just come back from his beach vacation, but that wasn’t her fault.

Before he knew it, Wylan was in a large, crowded room staying close to his father while Jan answered questions from reporters. A few questions were lobbed at Wylan, but that was the deal. That was his part here—had been ever since Wylan was just a little fellow who needed do nothing more than say he liked the ice cream or had seen a huge swan. 

No one expected him to know too much about politics at his age, so that wasn’t a huge problem. The answers might be less simplistic, but they weren’t difficult questions. 

“What do you think of the conference, Wylan?”

“It’s great! I’ve been learning a lot and meeting really interesting people.”

His father gave his shoulders a squeeze—he had answered right. 

“What’s your favorite part of Iowa?”

“The ferris wheel at the State Fair,” Wylan said without thinking. There were some laughs as he hurried to add, “But this is cool, too!” which prompted more and merrier laughter.

“How did you react to the President’s comments this morning?”

“I…” What was he supposed to say? He thought… he thought it was mean. He had been in the President’s presence and knew perfectly well the man was a bully. He didn’t like him, didn’t like his bullying, his meanness… but you didn’t say that about your father’s boss. Wylan looked up at Jan as he tried, “I thought…”

“You know what,” Jan said, pulling Wylan closer against him, “he’s sixteen. Don’t ask my son that, you ask me those questions.”

Wylan would have shriveled to have that tone leveled against him; he lowered his eyes even hearing it. 

The reporter shrugged it off. “Mister Vice President, how did you react to the President’s comments this morning?”

When they had a second, Jan told Wylan through clenched teeth, “You should have known how to handle that. And keep your shoulders squared!”

Wylan nodded. “I'll do better.”

When lunchtime rolled around, Wylan hoped that might be enough. He had been at this all morning. He kept his phone in his pocket so at least when it buzzed he knew he had a text message waiting for him. It was a far cry from the date he had wanted, though.

“Father?” Wylan tried.

Jan waved him off, shushing him, and Wylan turned his attention back to poking at his salad. 

He didn’t have another chance to say something until the table was being cleared.

“Father, do you need me after lunch?”

“Yes.”

“But…”

“You’ve done well today,” Jan said. Then he looked at Wylan's face and shook his head. "I know how this taxes you. If it's more than you can manage, you may return to your room and rest."  
  
Wylan knew he could accept his father's assessment, say he was too weak for this and go upstairs, but he did not want his father seeing him that way. He still felt a sinking realization that he wasn’t getting to that date anytime soon. Suddenly, he realized this might genuinely be a trick—did his father know? Was he just faking all this to keep Wylan from seeing the other boy? But no, Wylan thought, there was no way. His father could be… sneaky, if he needed to, but he wouldn’t do that about something like this. Wylan was sure his father would be too furious to conceal it if he knew his son was not just experiencing urges but engaging in homosexuality.

Did a date count as engaging in homosexuality?

Did a kiss?

How would Hale refer to ‘engaging in homosexuality’? Because Wylan was sure he wouldn’t call it that. He remembered Hale saying that word, homosexuality, suggested being this way was a disease. Later, Wylan resolved to ask how to properly refer to it. To engaging in… in being gay. Was it call that? Engaging in being gay? He would find out.

The afternoon was more of the same. More questions from reporters, more answers that made his father nod, more standing nearby and smiling. After a couple of hours, Wylan looked for another chance to ask his father if he could be excused, but Jan was increasingly frustrated. It was better to give him his space when he was frustrated.

Wylan scanned the area in the hopes of at least catching a glimpse of Hale, but had no luck. He would be with his father by the renewable and sustainable booths, Wylan guessed. Jan kept clear of that—they would be, he said, “a public relations nightmare”. 

Wylan was getting impatient by the time he saw a friendly face. Not that Agent Helvar could be openly friendly, it wouldn’t seem professional, but he gave Wylan a little smile and a nod in greeting. 

“Have you been here all day?” Agent Helvar asked. It was half an hour into his shift that he had a chance to say a halfway private word to Wylan.

Wylan nodded.

Agent Helvar glanced around then asked, far more softly, “Your date?”

He shook his head. “What if he thinks I changed my mind?”

“He won’t.”

Wylan hoped so. 

He was distracted, off his game, that was the only reason he made the mistake he did. 

The reporters had taken notice of his father’s response to Wylan being asked a political question and kept it light with him. Unfortunately, that included the personal questions—”So, Wylan, any special girls in your life?”

He froze, thinking of Hale—no special girls, but one very special guy—knowing he couldn’t say a word about that. Slowly, as the pause stretched too long, a hot blush crept up Wylan’s face. He felt his father’s eyes on him and the bruises on his abdomen throbbed in anticipation. He was going to be punished for this, he just knew it, for being so stupid again and—

“I don’t know how to talk to girls,” he blurted. Humiliating, sure. But it made him sound like someone who tried to talk to girls. 

“Wylan,” his father warned, “are you well?”

The words were kind, the tone would have seemed kind to anyone not familiar with the subtle edges to Jan Van Eck’s tone. Wylan knew. He was in trouble.

“He is looking a little peaky, sir,” Agent Helvar volunteered, “perhaps it’s time he took a break from the fuss down here?”

Jan looked from the agent to his son, then nodded. “Yes,” he said, “it’s been a long day, and you do look worn. Go on, Wylan, I wouldn’t want you to get yourself hurt.”

“Yes, Father.”

In the elevator, Wylan curled his shoulders and ducked his head. 

“I’m so stupid,” he whispered. 

“You said you don’t know how to talk to girls,” Agent Helvar said. “No boy your age knows how to talk to girls.”

“Did you?”

Agent Helvar smiled. “The first time I tried to speak to a girl I liked, I was too nervous to think clearly. I talked about military history. And nothing else. It's normal.”

Wylan nodded, though he would bet Hale knew how to talk to girls. After a moment he glanced up at the agent. His face was still burning with embarrassment but Wylan had the manners to say, "Thank you for getting me out."

Agent Helvar nodded. Wylan wasn’t so stupid as to think they were friends, he knew he was Agent Helvar’s job, but sometimes—like now—he felt what seemed to be genuine approval from the man.

Back in his suite, Wylan wasted no time. There was only one thing he could think of to do on their date. He couldn’t risk being out of the rooms—what if his father came by? What if he was spotted someplace out and about after claiming he was unwell? 

He texted Hale, apologizing for not being in touch earlier and asking if he wanted to come to Wylan’s room. 

The response said he was on his way.

Wylan went to double-check his appearance. Hoping he had enough time, he took off his shirt and washed his hair under the bath faucet, scrubbing out the gel. He put his shirt on un-tucked to look more casual, but it just made him look messy. He tucked in his shirt again. He gave himself a long look in the mirror, then sighed and shook his head. Hale was one of the most impressive people Wylan had ever met—smart, worldly, kind, incredibly attractive. 

So why was he with Wylan? Hale was just cool. He was like someone off a TV show, the kind of guy anyone would want to be with. He didn’t need a dumb loser. Maybe he only liked Wylan before of who his father was. Sure, he asked Wylan out before learning about Jan, but maybe he realized what Wylan was but...

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Wylan hopped to open it, smiling when saw Hale standing there. The sight took his breath away. It was almost, almost like he could have dreamed this perfect boy but seeing him confirmed that he was real. His lopsided grin and sparkling gray eyes hit Wylan right in the heart. He was wearing a t-shirt with cartoons and words—privately Wylan hated those shirts—and jeans that hung distractingly low on his hips.

“Hi,” Wylan said, his voice a breathless half-chuckle that brought a faint blush to his cheeks.

“Hey,” Hale said.

Wylan stood back to allow him in, flashing a quick smile at Agent Helvar. The agent smiled back.

As he followed his boyfriend, Wylan couldn’t help his gaze being drawn to Hale’s hips and the area between his hips—before catching himself and tearing his focus away. He had fallen several steps back and hurried to catch up.

“So, we—well, I can’t really go out—I sort of… pretended… so I could stay here.”

Hale raised his eyebrows. “You pretended?”

Wylan’s half-blush blossomed into a full one. “Lied,” he admitted. “I said I was sick. But I thought we could hang out? We can order whatever you want from room service.”

“Sounds good,” Hale agreed, untying his sneakers and tugging them off. 

For a while, it was like their earlier meetings. Wylan called for room service and took a seat on a chair in the sitting room while Hale sprawled on the floor—though he borrowed several cushions from the seats. Thinking about him as ‘Hale’ felt strange. He definitely knew who Wylan was, knew his real name… but Wylan liked being “Riley”. He liked not having to be himself for a little while.

“Why do you do that?” Wylan wondered. “You sit on the floor or just… not in a chair.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Hale replied. 

Wylan gave him an unclear look, and Hale waved him over. He was plenty familiar with floors. Nonetheless, Wylan went and sat on the floor close to Hale. The crackling in the air he felt was undeniable—but it wasn’t about the floor. It was sitting so close to Hale, to his boyfriend, the thrill of him.

Hale leaned forward and motioned Wylan over. Wylan scooted forward. He could practically feel the heat of the other boy. Right then, Wylan would have forgone chairs the rest of his life if he could sit next to Hale.

Hale brushed the pad of his thumb against Wylan's lower lip and Wylan felt his eyelids flutter. No one had ever touched him like that. Just one touch, yes, it was just one… touch… but it sparked a thousand pinpricks of energy. Wylan felt his attention drifting just slightly south to Hale's lips and he knew without knowing the words that those lips could kiss him any time. That smile-curving mouth could claim his. Was, in fact, invited to. 

Those fingertips on his lips… Wylan's breathing had turned shallow, and he vaguely wondered how the adrenaline of a moment ago had turned into—into—whatever he was feeling now.

And then, inexplicably, the other boy's hand went still.

"You've never been kissed before, have you?"

"No."

"Do you want your first kiss now?"

"No."

The word surprised Wylan. It was not the one he wanted to say, but it was the truth. He wasn't ready. He wanted this boy—he felt in every splitting cell how fiercely he did—but it wasn't right. He wasn't himself. How could he take his first kiss from someone whose name he didn't know? There were too many secrets and Wylan knew if he told them, Hale wouldn't want to kiss him, anyway. 

The surprise was clear in his boyfriend's face, a note of hurt along with it.

"I… I'm not ready. I want to, but I'm not ready." What else could he say? _I can't let you kiss me because you think I'm some kind of smart, talented artist. I can't let you kiss me because if you knew how stupid I am, you wouldn't want me._ Wylan wanted to kiss Hale. Wanted Hale to kiss him. But he wanted Hale to kiss, to want, the real Wylan, and it didn't feel right to kiss him until there was more truth between them.

_Until._

The hurt cleared up.

"That's okay. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for."

With almost unsettlingly perfect timing, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Hopefully that was their dinner. If not… Wylan’s stomach knotted. What would his father say?

“Stay here,” Wylan said. He went to the door, taking a moment to nudge Hale’s shoes under the bed just in case. He was back a few moments later, dinner in hand.

There were a few minutes of quiet while they lit into the meal. Wylan found himself wondering if he had been on the news at all—it wasn’t so uncommon for him to show up in clips. Would Hale have seen? Did he follow politics, know about the latest incident? He wondered what the convention was like from Hale’s perspective. It had been a political exercise for Wylan. He knew Hale wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the convention, though.

“Have you ever played ‘two truths and a lie’?” Hale asked.

Wylan shook his head. Then, “Oh, wait—yes! At camp.”

“Want to play now, with me?”

“Sure,” Wylan agreed. “But you go first.”

Hale nodded. “Okay, only fair.” He took a gulp of water, thought about it, then said, “I’m an only child, I once burned a swear word in the grass, and I own 17 hats.”

Wylan thought about it. Hale was definitely an only child—he had talked too much about his family for there to be a sibling he just never brought mentioned. The thing about the hats was too specific not to be true. So… “The swear word.”

“Nope,” Hale said, grinning hugely. He laughed: “Da was so mad. He didn’t even think I knew that word!”

Wylan offered a smile in return, though the idea of making a father mad was more terrifying than amusing to him.

“Your turn.”

“Um…” Wylan chewed thoughtfully as he tried to think of anything about his life that would make him seem impressive, anything worth sharing. “I play the flute, um… I play the flute, I don’t like ice cream, and I once spent a week in the hospital.”

“The hospital thing.”

Wylan shook his head. “I had pneumonia when I was seven.” He remembered it only vaguely, he had been so young and so sick, but in its own way it was a fond memory. His father had been there, holding his hand.

“So you like ice cream?”

Who didn’t like ice cream?

Wylan nodded, and Hale groaned. “That’s a dumb lie!”

“Fooled you,” he pointed out.

“Fine, fine, round two. I’ve never broken a bone, I once published a poem in my school newspaper, and I could probably recite half of _Labyrinth_.”

“ _Labyrinth_?” Wylan asked.

“You know, the Bowie movie? Power of Voodoo? My friend Nina has a thing for the ‘80s. Okay, well, that wasn’t the lie.”  
  
Not for the first time, Wylan was struck by how much Hale knew and how little he himself knew. He felt small. He felt so obviously insufficient, nowhere close to good enough for someone so… much! 

“Why are you with me?” Wylan blurted. “Is it because I’m not a proper boy? You said you like boys and girls. Is it because I’m…” He gestured at himself: his too-long curls, his slight shoulders, his slender fingers. If that was the reason, it was okay. Wylan just wanted to know.

“Because you’re…?” Hale prompted. When Wylan didn’t answer, he asked, “Are you—is this your way of telling me something?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re non-binary, that’s cool. You can tell me,” he said, sitting up straighter.

Wylan chewed his lip. Maybe he should just say yes. Would that help? He didn’t know what it meant to be non-binary—in fairness, he didn’t know what it meant to be cool, either. Was non-binary a good thing? Did Hale want him to be that way?

After a moment, Wylan shook his head. “What’s non-binary?”

“It means—again this is a gross oversimplification, but—it means you don’t identify as just male.”

He flinched. He didn’t realize there was a word for it.

“Okay, let’s back up. Um, what’s your pronoun? Would I say, ‘I had dinner with him last night’, ‘I had dinner with her’, or ‘I had dinner with them’?”

“Him,” Wylan said, only growing more puzzled. Wasn’t that obvious?

“Are you a boy?”

He felt the rush of blood to his face. “Yes.”

“Okay, so you’re not non-binary. You’re a boy. I mean, probably, like I said you can tell me if you're not.”

“I’m…” He searched for the words, gnawing on his thumb as he did. Finally he said, “But you saw my drawings. I play the _flute_.”

Hale regarded him for a moment, and he looked so sad it made Wylan squirm.

Finally he asked, “Do you actually believe that? You can’t like art and music and still be a boy?”

Something was gathering in the back of his throat, something suspiciously akin to tears, and if he parted his lips it might fall out. That would destroy what remained of their date. But hadn't Wylan said? Hadn't he told Hale he was stupid?

“A boy can be whatever he wants,” Hale said, so gently Wylan could feel the effort he put into it. He put an arm around Wylan’s shoulders and let Wylan lean against him. He felt so good, warm and steady, and being so close against Hale made Wylan's heart do strange and wonderful things. “I’m not going to deny that you’re attractive, but it’s more than that. You have this optimistic way of looking at things. You think the world is special and you love things so much you shine. I like you for the boy you are. That's why I'm with you.”

Wylan swallowed. He took a deep breath, then another. The lump in his throat eased. He wanted to tell Hale secrets—wanted to tell him that he wasn’t always a good enough son and his father punished him. He wanted to spill his deepest secret.

 _Idiot,_ he told himself. The most hurtful was how he believed Hale, his boyfriend, he believed that someone genuinely liked him. And what was his instinct? To take advantage! To reveal all the worst parts of himself! What was wrong with him?

“I’m—I’m sorry I ruined the date.”

“Who says it’s ruined?” Hale asked. “I’ve got a cute guy in my arms, hours ahead of us, maybe a shark movie or two…? Feels like a pretty good date to me.”

He was so nice.

“Shark movie sounds good,” Wylan said.

“Don’t worry, I know you get scared. I’ll hold you the whole time if you want.”

Wylan amended his earlier statement: “Sounds very, very good.”

He didn’t know if this was what a date was supposed to be: an evening in a hotel, room service, candy from the mini bar, cuddling in front of a movie about dinosaurs being brought back to life for an amusement park. (Apparently everyone had seen it before, except Wylan.) If it wasn’t, Wylan didn’t care. He had fun. Hale seemed to have fun, too. And after he had shown a hint of what a dumb mess he was and being accepted nonetheless, Wylan felt… warm throughout. He felt alive.

When they had to part ways, each of them insisted it had been a good time, promising one another that they would see each other tomorrow.  
  
Wylan could barely wait.


	7. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter contains alcohol use and a relapse; it also contains references to child abuse.

While Jesper was sleeping, his phone exploded.

He woke up to a flurry of alerts. He had 6 texts from Riley, 17 from Nina (which was steep even for her), two from his da. He even had one from Kaz. Had he missed a natural disaster while he was sleeping? He felt cautious dread balancing on a cliff above him, not quite descending, but ready to descend.

Da rarely texted, so Jesper checked those first—one asking Jesper to call when he woke up, one saying he loved him.

The dread hit. Sank into him with slow, permanent feeling, like a meteorite into tar.

KAZ   
You might have said.

Whatever Kaz and Da thought Jesper knew they were talking about, he didn't. The lostness wasn't helping.

Nina clarified.

NINA   
YOU'RE DATING WYLAN VAN ECK!?

Well… yeah, but how the hell did she know that?! Jesper hadn't even used his name. He understood why Riley wanted it kept secret, so even after he knew, after he heard it, he tried not to even think of him that way. Tried to let him be who he wanted to be.

NINA   
YOU DIDN'T TELL ME THIS??  
JESPER!!!!  
WHAT'S HE LIKE? HE'S REALLY THAT CUTE IN PERSON???

Jesper shifted over to another set of texts. The name at the top of the exchange still read 'Cutie'. He was way too cute to go into Jesper's phone as  _ Mister Smithers _ . A part of Jesper already knew what he was going to see, but he read the texts, anyway.

CUTIE   
Thank you for meeting me on the roof and thank you for last night. Thank you for the past few days. Being your kind-of boyfriend has been one of the best experiences of my life because you are so wonderful. Thank you for being wonderful. We can't see each other anymore. It was a mistake.  
Not that I didn't care. I did. Just that we can't see each other.  
Please look at the stars.  
You don't have to think about me or anything. Just look at them.  
Don't contact me again.

He wanted to hurl his phone across the room. What the hell was that?! Of all the things he imagined Riley to be, he did not place on that list 'a coward'. Who broke up  _ nicely _ ? It was still breaking up! Did he really think there was any chance Jesper would ever look at the stars again without feeling this hot, hurting thing inside him?

He threw his trigonometry book. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he had hoped.

Jesper wasn't sure why he cared. Two days wasn't a relationship. He felt like they had shared something… obviously he had been wrong. He had found the natural disaster, though. This sure felt like an earthquake rending a fissure down the face of the world. It was  _ stupid _ to feel that way after only two days. But he did. He felt used and discarded.

They hadn't even kissed!

He felt… he didn't know how he felt. Angry, maybe. He felt… he felt…

He felt used.

Jesper texted… he texted the other boy.

JESPER   
Why?

He didn't understand. Last night had been nice. More than nice—it had been real. Lying out under the stars, Jesper hadn't wanted to lie or front. He was no one but himself. That was seen and accepted. Wasn't it?

He was angry with himself for trusting.

His fingers tapped on the bed as he waited to hear back. Jesper still hadn't reached the "getting up" part of the morning.

He didn't have to wait long before the phone buzzed with a new text alert.

CUTIE   
Please don't text me.

No. Because two nights ago someone held his hand, showed him the most beautiful thing (to his esteem), and talked to him honestly about his faith. Last night that same someone squeezed his hand whenever the dinosaurs were too scary. Jesper refused to believe that had been fake. What did he want to do, waste time? What was the point if none of that meant anything?

JESPER   
Last night was real.

The answer came not ten seconds later.    
  
CUTIE   
Please don't text me.

JESPER   
You owe me an explanation.

Jesper hated himself as soon as he sent the message. It felt so right when he wrote it, but now it was out of his hands and it just looked… wrong. Because it wasn't what he wanted. Yes, he wanted to understand. He also wanted to fix this. He wanted to make his boyfriend smile and blush. He  _ liked _ this boy.

That was stupid.

CUTIE   
I'm so sorry. Please stop texting me. Please.

It would have seemed abrupt but for the second  _ please _ .

"What the hell…"

Jesper shook his head.

He half-pushed himself, half-fell out of bed with the intention of going to the bathroom to brush his teeth but instead landed on the mini-fridge full of ridiculously expensive snacks. And drinks. The drinks were more important. Jesper didn't  _ like _ to drink, exactly, it wasn't his preferred buzz, but he didn't like or know what was going on in his head right now.

He twisted off the cap with a twinge of guilt about the cost, just a twinge, because the smell hit him half a heartbeat later.

Jesper inhaled with a deep sigh. So fucking promising. It didn't make sense that someone like Jesper, whose mind was already full of a million things, preferred stimulants. He liked what coke did to him. But for just a dull buzz, just for something to stop this—he would accept a substitute.

Rehab had sucked.

Rehab had sucked so much.

When it wasn't boring and repetitive, it was stupid. They made him talk about school. They made him talk about Ma, like her death had anything to do with him liking to party, but worst of all—they made him talk about Da. Not just talk. He had  _ been there _ . Jesper could get through it. Nina had been there. Heads bowed close and trading sly snark, they saved each other, they made it through together, but the family therapy had utterly gutted Jesper. Da had been so  _ lost _ . Jesper didn't take rehab seriously, Jesper didn't take anything seriously, but even he couldn't joke when he saw his father so lost and desperate.

He put the bottle down and grabbed his phone.

JESPER   
Call me. Now.

The phone rang ten seconds later.

"Dude, how did you not tell me about this?! I mean, first of all, am I not your best friend, I'm starting to think I—"

"Nina."

Her chatter died. Normally Jesper would have been happy to hear it. Just not right now.

"Jes?" Nina asked. "Look, if this is about—"

"How did you know?" Jesper asked.

"Oh my god. You haven't… oh, sweetie. Put me on speaker."

"Done."

Which had the unnerving effect of making the big breath she drew seemed to be pulled from this very room.

"Is Colm with you?"

"Nina, what the hell is going on?"

"I really think Colm should—"

"Nina!"

"Okay, okay. You're on TMZ. You and Wylan Van Eck, eyeing each other like popsicles on a smoking hot day."

"What?!" Jesper demanded, navigating to the trashy website.

There they were. Someone had taken a picture of them that day they visited the rooftop garden, just before… Jesper didn't like to use his name. It felt taken.  _ Not _ using real names had been their thing. Now he knew the other boy's name without that boy giving it to him. Somehow, Jesper felt like that—his name, his identity—had been taken and shared against his will.

Sure, Jesper was a little out, he was out to people he knew and trusted. Nina and Kaz knew. Da knew.

The entire fucking world didn't!

Suddenly he was really, really grateful to be the son of a corn farmer instead of being the son of the Vice President of the United States.

"That's why," Jesper murmured. He wasn't sure if his heart was hammering or twisting or  _ what _ . Maybe it was just confused, like the rest of him.

That picture, though. The way he—the way Riley looked at him…

"Jesper?" Nina asked. "Jesper, are you there? Say something. Jes, you're worrying me here."

"You know how we all hate Van Eck?"

"Um, yeah," Nina said, "we might've talked about it every lunch period for like a year."

They all hated him. Honestly, Kaz scared them sometimes. He had taken 'plotting to kidnap the VP' as a hobby, when he wasn't hacking the school's server—Kaz could be pretty terrifying.

Jesper opened his mouth to tell Nina what he'd overheard. It was okay to tell his best friend. Except… this meant he had been  _ in the room _ . How many hours had they spent discussing how much they hated this man? How many jokes and half-jokes about wishing him ill, how many genuine wishes to just have a chance to speak honestly to him? About the harm he was genuinely doing to the country as a whole, to the LGBT+ community? Jesper had been in the room with a man they all claimed to hate. He'd heard him insult his son. He'd heard him hit the boy Jesper supposedly had nascent feelings for…

"Hello? Jesper?"

Jesper dropped his phone. He put his face in his hands.

"Jesper!  _ Jesper Llewellyn Fahey! _ "

"I'm such a loser," he muttered.

"Are you there?"

He ended the call. He poured the little bottle of whiskey down his throat and knew one thing: it wasn't nearly enough.

* * *

WYLAN

Wylan wasn't allowed to leave his room. His father had suggested he spend the time studying and praying. The former had not gone well, and Wylan couldn't resist the urge to prod at the ugly bruises on his stomach, but that still left him with an empty day and nothing but sour feelings. So he had closed his eyes and pictured the stars and whispered secrets to God.

Wylan was never truly alone. He didn't mean God, though, he meant the Secret Service, always nearby. He didn't know why they bothered. After the last debacle, if anyone kidnapped Wylan, his father would probably say, "Kill him."

But he knew their rotations and when four o'clock rolled around, he cracked open the door. Seeing who he hoped to see, he opened the door fully.

"Agent Helvar?"

The agent gave him a long look. He was young, too young for this job really, young enough that he could have been Wylan's brother. Though he was good at his job, always aware, and strong, and everything he ought to be, he was also kind. He gave Wylan unprofessional smiles—like he was genuinely seeing and smiling at Wylan, not just giving his charge a polite acknowledgment.

"Everything's well out here, Mister Van Eck."

"Oh. That's good."

Wylan hadn't been sure what to expect. He still wasn't sure what he had expected. He just wanted to see the closest approximation he could access to a friendly face. 

_ I don't work for your father. I work for the United States of America _ .

"Thanks," Wylan said. "For keeping me safe."

"I'm just doing my job."

"Yeah."

So softly Wylan almost thought he'd imagined it, Agent Helvar said, "It'll be okay."

Wylan looked closely at him. Had he heard that? For real? The agent gave no sign, just a professional nod.

"Thank you," Wylan said again. "Um, Agent? Do you… do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't," Agent Helvar said. 

Wylan didn't know what to say. He didn't know, he  _ didn't _ think he had done anything wrong, but he still felt wrong. He felt like he inhabited a space in the world for which he was misshapen, wished he had kissed Hale and wished he didn't even want to kiss him.

"I've been assigned to you for almost a year now. Until this week, I had never seen you truly smile."

More than anything, Wylan wanted to ask what he should do, because he was lost.

* * *

JESPER

"You need to leave."

"No, I just wanna see him!"

If he could just  _ explain… _

It had taken him a while to feel any one full thing. Just like it had taken him a while to bribe someone to buy him a bottle of vodka at the 7-11, but said bottle had  _ really _ helped him figure things out. Mostly that he needed to talk, he needed to explain—because  _ of course _ Hot Smithers broke up with him, because probably, he thought Jesper had something to do with the TMZ pictures, but Jesper did not, and if he could just  _ explain that _ —

"Go home," said _… his name was… was…_ said Blond Muscle Lump Man.

Shut up, Jesper would be coherent later. He was very sloshy now.

"N-no, llllook. Look, I didn't do this, I just… just lemme tell him that."

Blond Muscle Lump Man shook his head. "Go home," he repeated. "Come back sober."

"But…"

Wait.

Come back?

Jesper stumbled. He was very drunk. It made him feel warm. Dizzy, but warm.

"I really like him… Mister… Thor."

"How old are you?"

"I am… I…"

Seventeen. He was seventeen. But for the life of him Jesper couldn't think of a good age to claim to be. 21? Legal to drink? Or 16, which was the age of one very pretty Vice President's son who shall remain nameless?

"Too young."

"You are very judgmental."

"Go now before someone else finds you here."

Jesper sighed. He gave a sloppy salute and said, "Fly well, Odinson." Then he made his slow, stumbling way to the elevator.

Any remaining buzz had worn off the moment the hotel room door opened.

Jesper hadn't opened it. He was still standing in the hallway, fumbling with the key card that had to go into a  _ ridiculously _ tight slot and he was giggling to himself about lube jokes when the key card snapped, and there was Jesper with nothing left to do but… could he tape it? Could this be taped? Or maybe he could just… sleep here? No, because he was going to puke first…

Then the door swung open, and Colm stood there. 

"Jesper."

"Da, I c… just l…"

Colm pulled him into an almost painfully tight hug. Another time, a time when he less inebriated, Jesper would have strong feelings—he would feel ashamed all over again. Love and shame rarely visited one without the other these days.

But Jesper was soused, so instead he just let it happen for a while. Then he said, "Gotta puke," pushed Colm away, and stumbled into the bathroom.

He spent the rest of the night wishing he could black out and not blacking out. As he expected, he threw up. Multiple times. Colm sat with him, cleaned his face with a wet washcloth, and helped him out of his vomit-spattered shirt.

"Go away."

It was bad enough Jesper did this to himself, but that was his choice. He didn't want to do it to his da, too.

"I'm not going to do that."

"I can vomit and piss myself without your help."

Colm pressed the cool, wet washcloth against Jesper's forehead.

"I love you, boy. You're everything I have."

When he was sure he wouldn't throw up any more, once he had kept down several glasses of water, Jesper whimpered, "Da?"

"I'm here."

"I wanna go to bed. I wanna go to bed, but I can't stand up."

Colm helped Jesper up. Unsteady, he had to lean on his father and still barely made it to the bed. It was all much more than Colm needed to do and much more than Jesper deserved, Colm sitting with him, bathing his face, half-carrying him to the bed. Tucking the blankets over him.

Jesper was drunk enough to cry. He was sober enough to be embarrassed by it.

"I love you, Da. 'm not just saying. I love you, I love you so much. I'm a fuck-up."

"Jes—"

"No, no, I am, I'm a fuck-up, it's not you and it's not because she's gone, it's me, I'm just, I'm like this, I don't know, but it's not your fault. It's all me."

Colm never missed a single family event when Jesper was in rehab. He was there for therapies and meetings and family days. Each time he was there, awkwardly wringing his hands and looking for where he might have erred. That more than anything had pushed Jesper to change. It broke his damn heart to see Da with his head down saying he just didn't know what to do.

After a long moment, Colm said, "I love you, too. Try to get some sleep. We'll talk about this when you're feeling better."

_ Summary (in case you skipped due to TW): Jesper woke up to find a lot of unclear text messages, including several from Nina that specifically named Wylan, and a strange string of texts from Wylan, breaking up with him while simultaneously thanking Jesper for being himself.. Jesper texted Wylan several times, but Wylan just insisted they couldn't see each other. He called Nina for clarification. Nina encouraged him to contact his da, but Jesper pushed her to tell him what had happened and she revealed that Jesper and Wylan's picture was on TMZ. He hung up on her, resolving to get extremely drunk. _

_ Wylan spent the day in his room. He was lost, alone, and bruised. He spoke to Matthias, who offered him some encouragement but couldn't truly help. _

_ A very drunk Jesper turned up outside Wylan's room, but was turned away by Matthias. (Unable to recall Matthias's name, Jesper referred to him as "Mister Thor" and "Blond Muscle Lump Man" because this chapter desperately needed a shred of levity.) When he arrived back at Colm's hotel room, Jesper came face-to-face with his father. Colm hugged Jesper, then sat with him while he threw up. Jesper repeatedly told Colm to stop it and leave him alone with his misery. Finally, Colm helped Jesper to bed. Jesper told Colm that he loved him and accepted responsibility for his actions, explaining that he was "a fuck-up". Colm said he loved Jesper and they would talk about this later. _


	8. Chapter 8

NINA

Moving to Iowa, freaking middle-of-the-country flyover whitest-of-the-breads Iowa, had not been on Nina's bucket list. It was more part of her 'Things That Will Cause Me to Kick the Bucket' list. But her parents were done with her after her second stint in rehab and second relapse. She'd heard it before, but this time they meant it.

No one asked her opinion. She offered it anyway, but no one listened.

Well, her half-sister did. Her half-sister listened just enough to say, "No, you cannot make your own decisions. Not good ones, anyway."

She actually loved Zoya. That was pretty much the only reason Nina didn't want to punch her in the face.

There was nothing for her in Iowa. She had nothing and no one… until a lanky boy started snickering at her snarky comments. She wasn't sold on the whole "Iowa might be okay" thing until he started sitting next to her, chattering back to her.

Unlike Jesper, Nina was serious about getting clean this time, and staying clean after. Jesper just made it seem possible. Sure he specialized in oblivious—like, he didn't seem to realize he was a sweet farm boy any more than he realized he was a drug addict any more than he realized he was  _ completely _ in love with his other best friend. But he was fun and hilarious and he, too, appreciated a cute butt whether it was attached to a man, a woman, or someone whose gender identity was less aligned with the binary.

And, sure, he was every midwestern cliche she could think of, but he was good-natured about it. Once she had teased Jesper for thinking cheese was a food group, to which he had replied,  _ This isn't Wisconsin, you bitch _ . In a loving way.

So they became friends. Nina always felt a little responsible for Jesper. It wasn't just that he was younger. He really was sweet. And, frankly, she did not trust Kaz Brekker with her Jesper's heart.

Not that Jesper could be trusted with his heart, either. Making bad decisions was kind of his M.O. Normally, Nina didn't mind. This one worried her. 

"Put it away, Nina," Zoya said the third time Nina checked her phone at dinner.

They were having a nice family dinner, the sisters and Zoya's long-time boyfriend. Nina had no resentment towards Nikolai. He was cool. And obviously he loved her sister and he made her happy. The most objection Nina had lodged toward their relationships were a few jokes about Nikolai leaving the seat up. Once he stopped doing that, her objections died out.

Tonight, though… tonight she just poked a fork at her dinner and sighed.

Nina was really more about breakfast than dinner, but this had to be serious if she was barely touching fettucini alfredo. Noodles in all the dairy? Sign her up! Just… not tonight.

"I have to go, Zoya, I have to!"

"Nina, we are having a nice evening!"

She was losing her temper. Nina had seen that coming, even hoped Zoya would get angry enough to say something like  _ fine, then go! _ Nina could easily be out the door before Zoya recovered her wits. There was an overnight bag stashed in the coat closet.

"Zoya."

Nikolai was the other reason Nina decided to push her luck. He was two things: reasonable and distracting. If Nina could not push Zoya into telling her to get out, then later on they would disappear into Zoya's bedroom and—well, she wouldn't notice Nina leaving.

Nikolai set his hand over Zoya's.

"You still haven't heard from Jesper?" he guessed.

Nina nodded.

Zoya reassured her, not for the first time, "Jesper is with his father, he'll be fine."

"Jesper is an idiot!" Nina exploded.

"Isn't he your best friend?" Nikolai asked.

"That doesn't make him not an idiot! He's a big stupid idiot and he's going to get his big stupid heart broken and he'll do some big stupid thing and I'll have to bury another stupid friend!"

Until the words were out of her mouth, Nina hadn't realized her true fear. It wasn't that Jesper would do something dumb and put himself back in rehab. She was afraid he would overdose, or take something cut with God only knew what—she was afraid he would die. He wouldn't be the first she had lost.

"Oh, Nina," Zoya said.

She said it  _ gently _ , that was the worst part. Nina could weather Zoya's temper and her scorn. Her sympathy was too much.

* * *

JESPER

Hangovers were just fair sometimes. They taught a much-needed lesson in  _ things not to do again _ . They were comeuppance for weakness of spirit, or over-indulgence, or whatever other posh ways you wanted to say 'getting drunk and almost puking on your father like a complete dumbass'.

So what did it mean that Jesper woke with nothing worse than a dry, sour mouth? There was pounding, but it didn't hurt like a hangover should.

Then he heard a door opening and realized the pounding had been someone knocking with Nina levels of enthusiasm.

"Hi, Mister Fahey."

That… sounded a lot like Nina.

This was clearly a dream. No longer worrying about doing something like opening his eyes or getting out of bed, Jesper laid back and waited for the dream to play itself out.

Even in Jesper's  _ dreams _ his da was grumbly, saying something too low for Jesper to hear properly about not being sure they should be here and appreciating something-or-other and not sure this is the best thing. And even dream Nina did the same big breath before an argument she really wanted to win.

"Mister Fahey," said Nina's sister Zoya, and Nina audibly huffed. "We didn't come here lightly. Nina's been terrified all night—"

"Zoya!" Nina protested.

"—that her friend is hurt or dead. Please. Let her see that he's well."

Ugh, even his dreams were a major buzzkill! And he didn't have any buzz to kill!

A moment later the bed shifted and bounced.

"Jesper?" Nina asked. She shook his shoulder, none too gently.

Okay… this was officially not a dream. Which meant yesterday wasn't a dream, either. Jesper groaned and put a pillow over his face.

"Jes, come on," she said, tugging at the pillow.

"Fuck off," Jesper whined.

"Jesper Llewellyn Fahey!"

Why did people keep calling him that? Why did someone like Nina call him that when it clearly didn't work, was one question. This was entirely different. Hearing his full name barked in his da's  _ I am not joking around right now _ tone scared the sass out of Jesper. He lowered the pillow enough to look at his father.

"I raised you better than that, Jesper. These have been a trying few days, but there are limits. Your friend and her sister drove all the way out here just to see you, she's been that worried. Now you're going to think about that and you're going to get up out of bed and say hello properly, is that understood?"

"Yes, Da," Jesper said in a small voice.

After a moment, Colm said, "Well?"

"Um… I don't think I'm wearing pants."

"Yeah, you're not," Nina said, glancing down at the floor. She picked up a pair of boxers pinched between two fingers and tossed them at Jesper. He must have kicked them off sometime during the night. He was mercifully free of a hangover, but still waking up and reacted too slowly to stop his underwear from landing on his face. Nina giggled, but had the decency to turn away while Jesper wriggled into his shorts under the covers.

He grabbed his jeans and shuffled to the bathroom, mumbling about brushing his teeth. While he was doing so, he heard Zoya say to his da, "I understand. I don't like Nina spending her time with addicts, either, but they understand each other. And she tests every month."

Jesper did not appreciate this. He just got drunk. Once! Just because… his thoughts wandered to his had-been-sort-of-boyfriend and he flinched. Back to thinking about the alcohol. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, a sort of numb settling on him. He would give anything to stay so numb… Jesper shivered. No, he wouldn't. Not anything.

When he left the bathroom, he saw a box of donuts and coffee cups on the same desk where he had futilely done some studying the other night.

Nina, powdered sugar on her lips, said, "We brought bribes. Just in case. And I was hungry."

Jesper pulled on a sweatshirt. It was dirty, but he didn't care. He grabbed a cruller and a cup of coffee, and went to sit on the bed.

"Jes, you know we love you, right?" she continued. "Even Zoya loves you."

"You are not the worst of Nina's friends," Zoya agreed.

Colm said, "You need to tell us what happened."

Jesper looked around the room. Nina was his first friend after every one of his stupid decisions came back to slap him in the face, and she was here, annoyingly obvious in her concern. Zoya had allowed him in her home despite his vices. And Da…

Jesper gulped his coffee. 

"I met a boy," he began.

He told them almost everything. He told them about Starbucks, going to find him the next day, how they had laughed and played video games—but not about the sketchbook, because that wasn't his to tell. He told them about the day in the garden. About watching dumb movies. He told them about breaking into the hotel pool.

He told them about Jan Van Eck.

"He's a monster," Jesper said. "He's just…  _ evil _ . Everything he said was just implying his son was stupid. He's not stupid, he's actually really smart, and he  _ hit _ him and I just… hid. In the other room."

"There was nothing you could've done," Colm said, squeezing Jesper's shoulder gently. Jesper needed the reassurance that his da wasn't angry, that his da was  _ here _ . He would never ask for it, but he needed it. "You couldn't have made it better by barging in."

"Last night—no, the night before—was it only two nights ago? No, three. Three nights ago. He asked me to go stargazing with him. He likes stargazing. He said it's where he feels close to God." Jesper said it cautiously, despite the past day still feeling protective of the Vice President's son. He did not want anyone to laugh at him.

No one did.

"I asked him to be my boyfriend and we had a date, sort of a date, and… well. You know what happened yesterday."   
  
"Well, no, we don't," Nina said. "We know someone sold a picture of you and Wylan Van Eck to TMZ, but that's it. We don't know what happened to  _ you _ ."   
  
"I got drunk."   
  
"Okay… we know that part," she admitted.   
  
Jesper looked at his cruller. He wanted to eat the entire thing in two bites. He didn't, though.   
  
"He broke up with me."   
  
Colm sat beside Jesper and put an arm around his shoulders. Jesper leaned into him with an embarrassing shiver; the last thing he needed now was to fall apart. He felt like patchwork, all with frayed seams…

"Why would he…"   
  
"He may not have had any choice," Colm said. "Jan Van Eck is not subtle on his feelings about this pansexual business."   
  
His da's utter and obvious awkwardness with the word, and use of it anyway, made Jesper laugh. It was a weak, loving laugh.   
  
"He's just gay, Da."   
  
"Thank the Lord, I know about that one."   
  
Jesper laughed. He wanted to wipe his eyes, but he had a donut in one hand and a coffee in the other, so instead he sniffled a bit.   
  
"You'll be all right. You'll get through this."   
  
"But I don't want to!" He was crying again. Messily. "I don't want to get through this, I want to see him, I  _ like  _ him! I want to explain!"   
  
Nina took his coffee and donut out of his hands, and supplied a napkin he could use to wipe his face.   
  
"Jesper, think of who he is. This is too big for us. We'll go home today, put all this behind us."   
  
Today? No, not today, Jesper knew the conference wasn't over.   
  
"You have two more days."   
  
"You need to be home," Colm said.   
  
Zoya offered, "He can stay with us."   
  
"No," Colm said. "Thank you, but no. My son is staying with me. We're going home."   
  
He knew his da was trying to help, doing all he could for Jesper. Difficult as it had been for Colm to agree to the convention, he wasn't one to back out on an agreement. Knowing how much Colm would give up did nothing to make Jesper feel better. Neither did crying in his da's arms, but that was all Jesper was doing, all he felt up to doing. Honestly... it was all he  _ wanted  _ to do.


	9. Farm Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter contains references to homophobia and bullying. It's in the background so I didn't include an "if you skipped it" summary, but if anyone would like one please let me know and I'll add it in!

JESPER 

Jesper yawned into the back of his hand as he wandered out of his bedroom. He zombie-shuffled through the living room and into the kitchen. His backpack waited by the front door, ragdoll slumped, about how Jesper felt. He grabbed a packet of Pop Tarts, too sleepy to consider flavor, then scooped up his reject of a backpack and slung it over his shoulder.  
  
"I'm leaving now!" he called.   
  
"Wait a minute!"   
  
That was not the reply Jesper wanted. He waited until Colm joined him, clearly no readier for the day than Jesper felt with his thinning hair uncombed and feet still bare.   
  
When Ma got sick, when they knew she wouldn't get better, that was when Jesper was deemed old enough to walk himself to the bus. No one decided it. No one asked him to do it. He just reached out one day, unlocked the door, and called, _I'm leaving now!_ He still did that. Didn't leave without letting Da know he was off. It used to bother him, until he realized it wasn't that Da didn't trust him.   
  
Colm hugged him tightly. "You go and have a good first day back, Jes."   
  
Usually, Jesper would say something about how that wasn't his plan but okay, if you insist. Today he said, "Okay, Da."   
  
It hadn't been long enough for Jesper to come back to himself. Logically, annoyingly, Jesper knew that he had now been broken up with his cute virtuoso as long as they had been a couple. Emotionally, he didn't _care_ . He didn't believe Riley wanted to break up with him, and he hadn't wanted to break up.   
  
He didn't get to say goodbye. It wasn't fair, leaving without saying goodbye.   
  
At the bus stop, he put his earbuds in and avoided looking at anyone. He missed his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Beyond that, he rather dreaded going to a school where he would be the focus of gossip. He was sure other people did things over break. Wayne Smith got drunk and did something stupid, because he always did. Peter Turner slept with Julie Hampton, because they'd both been talking about it for weeks. Everyone did something… but only Jesper Fahey was pictured on a national tabloid site looking longingly at the Vice President's son.   
  
He ate his Pop Tarts and listened to his music and tried to stifle the feeling that he was only pretending to be here. Maybe it was all a dream. After all, what were the chances he, a farmer's son from Nowhere, Iowa, had even briefly dated the VP's son? Everything turned weird after they fell asleep together. Maybe he was still there, dreaming.   
  
He knew a few guys tried to get his attention on the bus and he knew they were laughing at him. He didn't care.

* * *

NINA

  
  
"Jesper really needs us right now."   
  
Kaz sat on his couch, keys clacking as he typed… she wasn't sure. She hadn't asked and he hadn't offered. With Kaz Brekker, it was often better not to know what he was doing. Plausible deniability, Nikolai called it, though he had added that with a boy like Kaz Brekker the concept that he might be up to anything but no-good was solidly implausible. In any case, she didn’t much care if he was finishing an assignment, writing fanfiction, or hacking the NSA.   
  
"Did you hear me?"   
  
"Yes," he said, still not looking up.   
  
His studio, a converted storage room they had dubbed the Slat, was tidy to the degree Nina sometimes wondered if Kaz owned anything non-essential. She doubted it. She had only ever seen three cups here. A single plate; Kaz was decidedly inhospitable, and any snacks in his place were usually brought in by Nina or Jesper. He had a duvet—that was so freaking weird, of all the things to own, he had a _duvet_ . But it made sense. Winters were literally freezing.   
  
And it was on that couch that Kaz now perched. It was also his bed, and the coffee table was his desk and dining table.   
  
"Dammit, Kaz, Jesper is your best friend, you can spare fifteen seconds for him!"   
  
The clacking of keys came to a very abrupt halt. Kaz looked up. Sometimes Nina almost admired his ability to type so quickly with gloves on; put gloves on her and she could barely open a door!   
  
"For you," he said. She wouldn’t put it past him to start counting to fifteen.   
  
"He's had his heart broken, you could at least be decent."   
  
"I am not decent, Nina."   
  
Nina sighed. Really? Now? He had to be this extra _now_ ?   
  
"Then be less indecent," she said. She set an apple on his desk/coffee table/dining table. "Here. Maybe some fiber will help." Since he was full of shit. He blinked at her. She knew he’d understood what she meant, but he said nothing."You _are_ coming to school today, right? Or are you going completely Ferris Bueller?"   
  
Kaz shut his laptop. "Referencing '80s movies diminishes the legitimacy of your complaints about fashion in this state."   
  
"It's not just this state. It's basically everywhere that's not within 100 miles of the ocean."   
  
Anyone else—anyone but Kaz Brekker—would have argued. Even Jesper owned more flannel plaid than anyone in their right mind needed.   
  
They headed downstairs and out onto the street, Kaz eating the apple as they went. Nina hoped that meant he was trying to take care of himself and he wasn't doing it as a way to give her the finger, but either way it got something passably healthy into him. Would he bother next year? When they had both graduated and she didn't stop by in the mornings, would Kaz ever leave his apartment? Would he eat breakfast? She had no doubt he would land on his feet. Kaz was a frightening boy, but he was a survivor. What about Jesper, though? He'd be fresh out of friends at school. And Jesper couldn't be alone. He was like that, like Nina, he _needed_ friends.   
  
She made Kaz wait with her by the flagpole, where they could see the students leaving the buses. Some plodded, too tired or depressed for more. Some boiled out, already joking and shoving with their friends. 

"There he is! Jesper!"  
  
The look Jesper gave Nina and Kaz was heartbreaking. She was used to his gray eyes sparkling, a constant smile tugging at his mouth. He always denied having dimples, but he absolutely did. Today his eyes were dim and his mouth set in a steady line. His fingers tapped against his thigh dully.  
  
At least he was here.  
  
Kaz resettled his backpack. "Let's go," he said.  
  
They didn't get far before someone fell into step beside her.  
  
"Hey, Nina."  
  
"Hey, Jack." It was not welcoming. Every middle-of-the-country cliche she had ever teased Jesper for was true about Jack. She teased Jesper for his fashion sense, but Jack truly had none. She teased Jesper for going hunting, but Jack was a little too into killing animals.  
  
Jesper was allowed that. He was allowed to be cliche sometimes and call her a bitch because he was Jesper. He was her best friend. He just _got_ her.  
  
Jack…  
  
"You do know Fahey's a homo now, right?"  
  
Nina would have responded, but Kaz's cane cracked against Jack's knee, sending him to the ground.  
  
"Oh, hell, Brekker!" Jack objected. "You could've broken my leg!"  
  
Kaz said nothing.  
  
Nina looked at Jesper.  
  
"I can't believe I ever kissed that guy," she said, knowing it didn't soothe her friend's hurts any. "I can't believe I profaned my glorious mouth with his chilli cheese breath."

* * *

JESPER

  
  
Jesper sat on the floor in the Slat, his back against the wall, staring blankly into the middle distance. He didn't try to focus. Who cared about bio homework right now? Jesper vaguely realized he was fiddling with his backpack strap, but it didn't seem to matter. It didn't matter.   
  
"Kaz, you have any thoughts recently about like… overthrowing the government?" Nina asked.   
  
She sprawled across an armchair, legs thrown over the armrest. She had a notebook on her lap but she wasn't studying. He sat on the couch. There was another chair, but Jesper wasn't overly inclined to use it at the moment. He wanted to break something. Or someone.   
  
"I don't need to overthrow it. I just need to ensure they don't win re-election."   
  
He looked up briefly, just a flick of his eyes to Jesper.   
  
"No," Jesper said. He was surprised Kaz waited this long to raise the subject, because of course Kaz would see what happened between Jesper and the Vice President's son as something potentially of use.   
  
"Anything you know—"   
  
"I don't."   
  
"Kaz," Nina objected. "Can't you be a human being for five minutes?"   
  
Kaz raised his eyebrows. "It's been two weeks."   
  
It had, and in those two weeks, Jesper had been called names, shoved in the halls, and found a slur spray-painted on his locker. Some of the guys got in his face. His ex-girlfriend had cornered him between classes and tearfully asked if she was responsible for his "lifestyle choice".

Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, if not for Vice President Van Eck making a statement that his son was "impressionable and naive" and had been "misled". It had been laced with coded language, one of the most powerful men in the country all but stating that a teenager with no voice in this situation had preyed on his son. Van Eck made it okay. Whatever anyone wanted to say or do, it was okay, the VP said Jesper was a cancer.

More than once Nina had grabbed his hand tightly enough that he half-expected a bruise, which he would've resented, if he hadn't seen that it bothered her. They were talking to him, but they were talking about her, too.  
  
For Nina, Jesper made a point of being okay at school. He couldn't stand how upset she was about how upset _he_ was. So they spent their lunch period dissecting the latest news. And the latest jokes about it. Kaz frequently gave them looks of exasperation, but he sat with them anyway.   
  
"I was never even in the room with him," Jesper said, dismissing any plan Kaz had hatched about government overthrow. At least any plans using Jesper as a spy.

"Wylan could have told you something."  
  
A brief frown crossed Jesper's face at the name. He didn't think of him that way. He was Mister Smithers, he was Riley, he was a pretty virtuoso… but Jesper's boyfriend had never once used his real name, and now Jesper knew why.   
  
"Van Eck doesn't like his son. Calls him stupid."   
  
Kaz shrugged. "That won't lose us an election."   
  
"Let's play Bananagrams," Nina said.   
  
"Sure."   
  
"No."   
  
"Oh, come on, Kaz, we can't play with just two."   
  
Kaz gave them both a look like they were marching him to his death, but he said, "Fine. One round."   
  
Nina shrugged. "Beating you once is enough for me," she said. "Jes, grab my banana pouch, would you?" 

It was an easy set-up and Jesper knew that. Not one to disappoint, he said, "It's rude to grab a lady by the banana pouch."  
  
"Lady?" Nina asked, punctuating her argument with a pointed belch.   
  
Jesper took the banana pouch from her backpack and spilled the tiles on the table. The two of them turned the tiles over, mixed them, and distributed them.   
  
One game turned into three, then into a few rounds of Blackjack because Kaz wanted to learn to control a deck of cards so he needed someone to play for him to practice dealing, and the next thing Jesper knew he was stifling yawns.   
  
"Come on," Nina said, "I'll drive you home. Good night, Kaz. Get some sleep tonight."   
  
Kaz waved half-heartedly at them in a way that told both of them sleep wasn't high on his agenda.   
  
In the car, Jesper scanned a few radio stations on the off chance one was playing music, but after one political rant about "stealing our jobs" and two Radio Christian stations, he gave up. He didn't care for proselytizing on the radio. It was always the worst, especially the Radio Christians—Jesper might not be as religious as his da, but he was raised with church a regular part of his life. He remembered Christ calling the Pharisees hypocrites and shaming them out of harming a woman who had committed adultery; he was foggier on the time Christ told a girl to wash her face because red lipstick meant she looked like a harlot. Maybe they had read a different translation.   
  
"So… how are you doing?" Nina asked as they left the lights of the town behind them. "Are you, y'know, tempted?"   
  
"No," Jesper lied.   
  
"Liar."   
  
"Bitch."   
  
"Love you, too."   
  
Jesper wished people would stop doing that. It was so much easier to tailspin when people stopped reminding you that they loved you.   
  
"Do you think he liked me? I mean, he wouldn't have just been using me, right?"   
  
"I don't know. You're the only one who's actually met him. Does he strike you that way, like he'd be using you?"   
  
Jesper snorted. "No. He's like a marshmallow, he's like… sweet and fluffy all the way through… but with caramel. He's like a marshmallow with caramel curly hair on top."   
  
Nina laughed.   
  
"And cinnamon."   
  
"Cinnamon?"   
  
"Mm. Freckles. Or I'm just hungry, I don't know, Nina, he was _nice_ ."   
  
"A nice, gay marshmallow," she said.   
  
Jesper laughed. Yeah, that sounded right.

"I told him I was an addict," he said. "He didn't think it made me a loser. He liked me."  
  
"Look, you have shit judgment—"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Shut up. I'm older than you, listen to my wisdom."  
  
"By not even two years."  
  
"What did I just say about shutting up? You make bad choices but you're not a bad judge of character. If you think he really liked you, he did. Besides, you said he was smart and only an idiot wouldn't like you." She turned down the driveway, headlights cutting a swath of light across an otherwise dark road. A light was on in the window. "It'll be okay. It's just… it’s going to be a while, but it'll be okay."  
  
"Sure," Jesper agreed without meaning it.  
  
"Maybe a really, really long while."  
  
"Length isn't everything, Nina," he said. She stopped the car and he stepped out, adding, "I judge my whiles on girth."  
  
"I love you despite your horrible taste in whiles."  
  
"I love you despite your horrible taste in friends."  
  
"My true fatal flaw."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Farm boy."  
  
They both laughed and said good night. Jesper tilted his head up for the briefest moment. He paused.

"Do you think he's okay?"

"I think if he's not missing you, he's an idiot. And you said he's not an idiot."

"But do you think he's okay?" Jesper asked again. 

Nina reached across the passenger seat. Jesper took her hand and she squeezed.

He let her hold on until he thought he might cry, then said, "Okay, good night. Get outta here already."

"You'll get through this, Jes. I promise it'll get better."

They were in the middle of nowhere and Jesper wasn't worried about the corn rising up to eat him. Maybe it was because Nina was a city girl that she waited until he was inside before turning around and driving off.  
  
 _It'll get better in a while,_ Jesper thought. Sure. Just a really long, fat while.

* * *

COLM

  
  
Colm hadn't been much of a talker. He didn't need to be. Aditi had talked. Brilliant, bold, opinionated Aditi, and when he proposed—aye, there was the biggest surprise of their shared time, it was Colm who proposed. He knew that was only because he beat her to it. When he proposed, he said he wanted to listen to her opinions every day for the rest of his life. Aditi must not have minded, because she married him.   
  
Colm didn't much care to chat. He was pleased enough to listen.   
  
She hadn't said much on it until one day seventeen years ago. Aditi had been making dinner and Colm, worn out past anything more, was sitting and holding the baby. He hadn't thought about it.   
  
"Talk to your son, Colm Fahey."   
  
He had looked up at her, surprised.   
  
"He's fine," he said.   
  
Jesper was an easy baby. Maybe his energy hadn't settled into him yet, or maybe it was simply enough, then, for him to be learning the whole world for the first time. He always seemed to be learning, big gray eyes drinking in the world around him.   
  
"Talk," Aditi said.   
  
Colm cleared his throat. He didn't know what else to say, so he started telling Jesper, who was still too young to hold up his own head, about the farm.   
  
Aditi told him why later. Hadn't she read a dozen studies on the importance of talking for infants' brains to develop? And yes, Aditi talked. She described the world to Jesper, told him what she was doing and where they were. She included him in conversations with Colm. She talked, and Colm was happy to listen. But their boy was learning the world now and come Hell or high water, his father's voice would be a key part of it.   
  
Their home had been quiet without Aditi.   
  
At least, it had been quiet until Jesper started chattering just like his ma used to. Colm didn't object. He liked his son having a voice. Sometimes, though, he needed to hide how it hurt; he was proud that Jesper was like his ma, but Colm missed her fiercely.   
  
Now they sat quietly at the table, the sounds of spoons clinking against bowls far too loud between them.   
  
"It's been nice having you home," Colm said.   
  
Jesper nodded. He didn't say anything.   
  
Normally that was Colm's role. He didn't say much but communicated fine. He could tell Jesper he was disappointed with a look. Or he could communicate just the opposite. Sometimes Jesper needed to hear it, like he had when Jesper silently handed him a letter stating he was on an immediate one-week suspension for fighting.   
  
Colm had read the letter, nodded, and said, "It's all right, Jes."   
  
It wasn't. Colm was struggling now and he didn't know what to do. Aditi would have known. They were far from all right. And Colm… he just kept telling Jesper it was okay, reminding him to do his homework and knowing he often didn't.   
  
Just once, Colm had truly been afraid. Jesper wanted to do something else, anything else, he said. He wanted to hunt. It wasn't unusual in Iowa. Colm had never quite gotten used to the idea of hunting, but Jesper liked it, and normally Colm didn't care. This time he'd had to say no. He'd had to say, _I don't trust you with a gun right now_ , because if he let his son walk out the door he wasn't certain he would come back _._ Jesper was angry, but he was safe.   
  
Nearly three months had passed since spring break and Jesper's disastrous, short-lived relationship with Wylan Van Eck that left him heartbroken in the short term and publicly out in the long term. Perhaps the only decent outcome was that Colm was now friendly with Zoya. He never precisely disliked the woman, but he had his concerns about one of Jesper's closest friends being another recovering addict. Colm had kept things cool and polite until Zoya and Nina showed up outside his hotel room when Jesper really needed a friend. Now Nina and Jesper spent more time together, and that did seem to make Jes happier. Nina had even convinced her sister to have them over for Jesper's birthday next week. So in that way things were better. In every other way…   
  
"Any last-minute requests for your birthday?"   
  
Jesper shook his head. "I don't need anything."   
  
"Socks, then."   
  
"Sure, Da."   
  
If Jesper wouldn't reply to Colm's perennial joke about giving him socks for his birthday and Christmas, things were really bad.   
  
That night, once the dishes were washed and the leftovers put away, Jesper said he was staying up to work on an essay. Colm reminded him not to stay up too late and headed for bed. As long as Jes was home, Colm… well, he still worried. He could keep his worries in check, though. He fell asleep to the soft sounds of the television running while Jesper worked.   
  
The television was still on when Colm woke up in the middle of the night. He squinted at the clock. 2:33. Whether or not he was studying, Jesper shouldn't be awake. Colm had never judged good grades more important than his son's well-being. He shambled out of the bedroom.   
  
Jesper had fallen asleep on the couch. Judging from the notebook that had fallen to the ground, he had been studying.   
  
Colm picked up the notebook and set it aside. He brought a blanket from the closet to lay over Jesper, then turned off the television. He hesitated a moment, looking at Jesper's phone. Jesper had agreed not to lock it when Colm agreed not to snoop unless he had cause for concern. Did he have cause? Jesper wasn't himself, but he wasn't doing anything wrong. He was hurting.  
  
"I was Googling him," Jesper muttered. "My phone. 'S what you wanted, right?"   
  
No. Colm just wanted Jesper to be okay.   
  
"Do I need to go to bed? I'm comfortable."   
  
He rested his hand on Jesper's head. "Stay here. Get some sleep. You've school tomorrow."   
  
"Night."   
  
"Good night, Jes."   
  
A few seconds later, his breathing deepened. Jesper had already fallen asleep again.


	10. Head Above Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: references to drowning. Again I did not include a summary, but will if anyone asks!
> 
> And a minor note: There's some dispute but I classify math as a science and thus so does the story. (I also support the Oxford comma. Irrelevant to the chapter, I just have really strong feelings about it.)

WYLAN  
  
Wylan's breath tore through his throat, hot and harsh like carpet burn. Tall grasses tugged at his knees. He stumbled but forced his legs back under him, forced himself to keep moving. They hurt. All of him hurt, from the pain in his shins to the sweat stinging his eyes but he had… to keep… running.   
  
He wouldn't go back.   
  
He wouldn't go back.   
  
They couldn't make him…   
  
...unless they caught him. Then they could absolutely make him go back.   
  
He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. He hadn't thought this through. He had seen an opportunity and he had taken it, not expecting anyone to chase him down the long driveway, over the road, across a scruffy field, but there were two men far closer than he would have liked, and ahead of him—   
  
_No_ .   
  
Ahead of Wylan was a cliff. He hadn't heard the river over the pounding of his footsteps and the rush of blood in his ears, but he saw it now. There was a river ahead of him. The two men looked out of breath, but Wylan felt his last strength draining, knew he would flag first. Even if they weakened, they could come looking tomorrow. They could come in a car.   
  
Where else would he go?   
  
Wylan took one more glance. His heart squeezed at the sight of them, had learned to squeeze.

He put on a burst of speed, pulling from energy he did not know he had. A little voice in the back of Wylan's head told him there might be rocks. There might be kayakers. He could die or be returned… or he could make it. Maybe this was his only chance.  
  
Wylan reached the edge of the cliff and took the best leap he could, hurtling himself toward the river.

He hit the surface with a stinging crash that knocked the breath out of him. Wylan sank beneath the surface, water flooding his nose and mouth, his vision obscured. He struggled for control of his body. If he could just move, just get to the surface—but he was so tired and his limbs responded sluggishly, and the current already worked to batter him along.  
  
Once Wylan managed to force his head above water, he coughed and spat. His vision swam with spots. Getting his bearings was a lost cause, the river churning and pushing him, and it was all he could do to keep his head up. He put his energy there. His lungs burned, but he couldn't think about that right now. He just thought about keeping his head up and the air flowing.   
  
The first time he smacked a rock, the pain surprised Wylan. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't pull himself out; the river was too strong to fight. He tried to anticipate the rocks, to keep his legs tucked toward his body, though he didn't have the abdominal strength to maintain that for long.   
  
He looked back and couldn't see the men, couldn't see the cliff he had jumped from.   
  
Wylan Van Eck might die here in this river. He might be dropped over a waterfall. A fallen tree might smash his brains out. He might simply lose strength and slip beneath the surface. He might die in this river, but he would die on his own terms.   
  
Wylan didn't know how long he fought in that river. He didn't know how many times he hit something. He told himself it was only five more minutes, only five more, only five… more. And he kept going. 

When the current had ebbed and Wylan managed to drag himself out of the water and onto a muddy, grassy bank, he was drained. He just lay there, panting and gasping, his body throbbing like a giant bruise.   
  
When he had the breath, he began to laugh.   
  
He was free.   
  


* * *

  
  
Wylan hit the river and the water flooded his nose and ears, obscured his vision.   
  
He was laughing in the hotel pool with the most beautiful boy he had ever seen.   
  
His father was out of control furious, after all he had done for Wylan, that his only son had been photographed with another boy's arm around his waist.   
  
The rocks underwater and floating branches and his father's fists left bruises.   
  
He was lying under the stars with his boyfriend...   
  
Wylan awoke with a jolt to the sound of a train passing by. He looked around, confused, his heart slamming hard in his chest, his head disoriented by the noise of the train and the pain in his body. He didn't catch his breath until the train was gone.   
  
He had never been in a moment like this one. The train disappeared into the distance, taking away all but the natural light. The moon lit everything in clear, colorless silhouettes, and was reflected in bright ripples on the river. He heard it—heard the river, the rustle of the leaves, sounds of tiny motions of the insects and animals he couldn't see. The cool night air made him shiver. He didn't care.   
  
Wylan smiled up at the night sky, familiar, but with countless more stars, countless bright pinpricks of light among those he already knew.   
  
When the sun came up, Wylan would need to take inventory of his injuries. He would need to make a plan. For now, he looked up at the stars in the sky and everything felt okay and he wasn't alone.   
  
He didn't think he would sleep again, but he laid down and watched the stars until his mind tuned out.   
  
The next morning, Wylan once more startled awake, his mind leaping from _dream_ to _what_ to _oh_ . An image of his dream lingered. The boy from the convention, the way he smiled. The way he looked at Wylan. It had been a nice dream.   
  
Wylan felt how dehydrated he was, felt the absorbed heat sunburning his face. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, then his undershirt. He found some bruises and sore muscles. The worst was a cut on his hand. He tore a sleeve off his shirt and wrapped it around his hand, then pulled on his undershirt and buttoned the remains of his shirt over it. He took off his shoes and socks, then his trousers. His legs were worse. He touched one of the gray-green bruises, remembering the rocks under the water.   
  
Wylan brushed a hand over his too-short hair. He missed his curls. They were all he'd had from his mother.   
  
His clothes were a chafing mess thanks to the river water and stained from his night in the dirt, but they were all he had, so put his trousers on again, then his socks and shoes.   
  
He hurt, but what were the choices? Wylan's shoes squelched in the mud of the riverbank. There was a slope. The train tracks crossed a bridge about a dozen feet above the water. He scrambled up the slope and started walking, following the train tracks. Eventually, that had to lead him to a town. Hopefully it was close by. His head was already starting to throb.   
  
He just kept walking.   
  
The months would flash behind his eyes. And he would flinch. And he would keep walking.   
  
Yesterday, he ran. Wylan had never been good at physical activity. Before yesterday, he would have said he couldn't run to save his life, but he had run and jumped and—if that desperate doggy-paddle counted—swam. He had done that and survived.   
  
He was not going to die today.   
  
By midday, the heat was approaching unbearable. It wasn't summer yet, but it sure felt that way. His head and his bad hand hurt. The blisters on his feet hurt. Worst was his head. It felt full of cotton and he was getting dizzy. If he passed out here…   
  
Wylan clenched his jaw. _He was not going to die._   
  
He didn't know when he first noticed the shapes in the distance, but they sent a tremor of relief through him. He told himself he was not going to die. Now he might actually have cause to believe it.   
  
The first building Wylan hit was a gas station. He stumbled in and gasped out a request for the bathroom.   
  
The young woman behind the counter gave him a wide-eyed look. Strangers managing their way in here half-dead probably wasn't her everyday. He wouldn't have been surprised if she made him go, but she only handed him a key attached to… he didn't even know what that thing was. Like a spoon but the end was flat and tapered rubber.   
  
Wylan forced out his thanks and shut himself in the bathroom. He cupped his hands under the faucet and brought mouthful after mouthful of cold water to his mouth. He splashed it on his face and neck, soothing the burns. He drank more water.   
  
When Wylan was no longer desperately thirsty, he looked at his reflection.   
  
He wasn't the fresh-faced boy he had been three months ago. It wasn't just the cropped hair. He had lost at least ten pounds and his skin was breaking out. He had sunburns on his cheeks. His eyes, though… his eyes were all wrong. It wasn't just the smudges beneath them.   
  
A knock came at the bathroom door, followed by, "Hello? Are you okay in there?"   
  
"Yes!" Wylan called. He grabbed paper towels and patted his face dry, then hauled open the door. The woman from behind the counter stood there. She looked worried. "Just on my way out. Thank you."   
  
"Can I call someone for you?" she asked. "Are you—"   
  
"My car broke down," he interrupted in a rush. "My car broke down and I don't have a phone, I-I'm, I'm looking for a mechanic? With a tow truck?"   
  
Wylan hated lying and was bad at it, but she seemed willing to accept his excuse.   
  
"Sure. Just head down Main until you get to Jefferson, you can't miss it."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
She couldn't know, even guess where he really came from, because if someone knew, if someone tried to send him back… Wylan didn't know. He didn't want to think about that. He just had to keep moving forward.   
  
As he headed deeper into town, trying not to hide from stares— _what if they knew_ —Wylan tried to think about what to do next. He needed a plan, needed an intact shirt and a place to sleep tonight, his bad hand was hurting worse, but first he needed to eat. It had been more than two days since he had eaten anything, and the only rest he’d had was sleeping out by the river. He needed… _anything_ .   
  
The trouble was that he knew no one here, didn’t have any money, and would not resort to stealing or begging.   
  
Luckily the town was small enough that he found a market without too much trouble. He had noticed how people looked at him. He was a filthy vagrant to them. He thought about the woman at the gas station. Surely she wasn't the only person in this town who would look at Wylan, see his situation, and want to help him… right?   
  
He waited for someone to leave the market, then stepped forward.   
  
"Excuse me, can I help with your bags?"   
  
It was the best he could think of. It wasn't begging. It was offering a service. He didn't ask for anything, assuming that was implied strongly enough.   
  
The first time he said it, Wylan's face flooded with embarrassment. It _wasn't_ begging, it wasn't! But it still felt like begging. As he asked again and again, people looked at him with a curled lip, or over him like he wasn't there. Wylan stopped blushing. The embarrassment curled like a hot stone in his belly, but hunger pushed against it. He wanted to quit, but he was just so _hungry_ .   
  
He hadn't had any success when a man left the market, not carrying anything but wearing a dress shirt and dark suit trousers that very clearly said _manager_ . His nametag probably said the same thing.   
  
"You're making my customers uncomfortable," the manager said. "There's no panhandling allowed."   
  
"But…"   
  
Wylan wasn't panhandling. Besides, if he left, what did he do next? What else was there?   
  
"Move along or I'll call the police."   
  
"But I didn't do anything!" Wylan objected.   
  
"Okay," he said, taking a cell phone from his pocket.   
  
Wylan took a step back. "I'm going," he said, "I'm going."   
  
He trudged to the edge of the parking lot. His feet hurt and he dreaded removing his socks, certain the blisters had popped by now. At the edge of the blacktop, he turned back. The manager was still standing outside, watching him go. Wylan kept walking until he reached the sidewalk, then halfway down the block. Only then did Wylan sit down on the curb, his head on his knees.   
  
What did he do now? _What did he do?_ It was funny how he had been walking all day but felt like he had been falling. He didn't know what to do or where to go, and he was reminded all over again that he had no one to ask for help. Was this his life now? Was he homeless? Well—yes, obviously. And he would do it, stay homeless, before he would ask his father for help, but that didn't stop the intense sense of despair.   
  
He closed his eyes and thought about the boy from the convention, the guy whose smile lit his eyes. He was a nice thought. Wylan tried to hold onto him. A breeze blew through, a shred of mercy from an otherwise brutally hot day.   
  
He only opened his eyes when he heard the sound of things hitting the pavement.   
  
Wylan looked up. A woman stood there, a shopping bag over her shoulder; her second bag had broken. She was certainly striking. Purely from an artistic standpoint, she was beautiful and called for an uncommon color palette with her bright red hair and amber eyes. Wylan couldn't help noticing the scars down one side of her face. Part of him knew he might have stared, had he not had a task in front of him.   
  
Without thinking, Wylan went to help pick up her fallen groceries. He wouldn't have done it if he had thought. He would have remembered how he looked and stayed away. Instead he held out a tin of something. The label didn't have a helpful picture.   
  
She had started picking up her things, but stopped to give him a long look, long enough to make him take a step back.   
  
"I'm sorry. I was just trying to help, I didn't mean… anything…"

He glanced back at the market. Had anyone seen? Would they call the police?  
  
"Of course you didn't," she said. "Well, as you can see, my bag is broken. Help me carry my things home? I'll make you lunch for the trouble."   
  
"Really?" Wylan wished the word 'lunch' wasn't enough to make him salivate. "I—of course! Thank you!"   
  
He scrambled to gather the rest of her fallen things. Together they packed everything into the broken bag, which he carried like it was an infant.   
  
"My name's Genya."   
  
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Genya."   
  
"Just 'Genya' is fine. Left here. See that shop with the tailor's sign? I live behind the shop."   
  
Wylan nodded. There were several shops with signs, most of which had no helpful pictures to navigate. He fell back a step, letting Genya lead. She touched a little box on the doorjamb as she went in, then she held the door for Wylan.   
  
He had never been in a home like hers, but immediately liked it. The front door opened into the living room. There was a sewing machine in the corner and papers on the coffee table, he recognized some of the chemical compounds scrawled on them. Things looked just a little unfinished, like the glass on the end table and the book with a bookmark sticking out. Someone _lived_ here and wasn't trying to hide it.   
  
"The kitchen is through here. You can put that down on the counter."   
  
He did, though everything started to fall as soon as he stepped away and Wylan hurried to catch it before he did any more damage.   
  
Genya laughed. "I knew that bag was done for. What do you like? I owe you lunch."   
  
"Anything."   
  
He wanted to help somehow… maybe put away groceries for her? But he was keenly aware that he could not. Wylan had never put away groceries. He wasn't really sure how someone did that. How did you know where everything went?   
  
She checked her fridge. "Okay, kid. Peanut butter sandwich, soup, or leftover pasta."   
  
"Um. The pasta, please."   
  
He would have eaten cold pasta directly from the container, and tapped his fingertips against his thighs to hide how little he wanted to wait while it turned idly in the microwave. He stood otherwise still and out of the way, watching as she retrieved two plates and forks. Had he ever seen someone cook? He knew his father didn't cook. Had his mother?   
  
Genya brought the plates to the kitchen table. Wylan looked to her, and after a moment she seemed to realize what he wanted: "Go ahead."   
  
He slid into a seat, took a fork, and did his very best to show some hint of manners and not just shovel food into his mouth. His plate was half-clear when he remembered to say, "Thank you, it's delicious."   
  
He did, at least, have enough self-control not to lick the plate.   
  
Just barely.   
  
Genya had made no attempt at a conversation while they ate. Wylan presumed that was because his mouth was full the whole time, but now he saw something else in her face. It was like she was looking at him and trying to say something he didn't know how to hear. There was something soft and distant in her expression, something he didn't understand.   
  
Then she blinked, gave her head a shake, and whatever he had seen in her was gone.   
  
"Do you want to take a shower, since you're here? You can borrow some clean clothes."

Well… yes. He very much wanted to take a shower and wear clean clothes. Part of him worried—wasn't this how people got kidnapped? Eh, whatever. If it meant lunch and a shower, she could kidnap him!  
  
It wasn't like things could get worse, anyway.  
  
She put the dishes in the sink, then showed him to the bathroom and brought him a towel and clean clothes. There were three more doors in the hallway—one was a linen closet, another Genya's bedroom.  
  
"Take your time."  
  
Did he smell that bad? Wylan didn't actually wonder—he was sure he did.  
  
He sat on the floor to remove his shoes and, worse, his socks, which he peeled away with whimpers and gasps. As he expected, most of his blisters had popped, and left little rolled flaps of skin in some places and yanked them off in others. There were tiny fibers in raw places on his feet. His hand, when he unwrapped it, looked bad, too. At least the rest of his body looked how he expected. He was pale and mottled with bruises, but he would heal. The hand worried him. The cut was hot and red, probably infected.  
  
He spent most of his shower biting down on his lip to keep from whining. The hot water brought a rush of calm through him, but it hurt where it hit his bruises and touched his open blisters. The latter only became worse with soap suds. Wylan didn't care. Being clean was worth a little pain.  
  
Genya had given him sweatpants and a sports-style shirt. It was black with yellow lettering on it, and another time, being unable to read it might have bothered him. Not now. Now he put on his underwear and Genya's shirt and pants. He found band-aids in the cupboard under the sink and bandaged up his feet, then rolled on a pair of thick socks from Genya. He didn't know what to do for his hand. There wasn't any gauze under the sink. He felt guilty going through her things, but it was only for medicine. He told himself it was okay. So he wrapped toilet paper around the cut.  
  
The worst of the desperation was gone. Cleaned up, with a full belly, Wylan began to feel the pain of the past months creeping in. He shook his head. No, he had survived. He had survived and that was all that mattered now.  
  


* * *

  
  
Words filtered through Wylan's sleepy mind.  
  
"...what you need right now?" asked a man's voice, one he didn't recognize. Without thinking, Wylan strained to hear more.  
  
"Yes." That voice he knew.  
  
"He won't be a replacement, Genya."  
  
"I know. I know that. Will this be a problem for you?"  
  
There was a long pause, then, "We can try it for a few days."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I'm not promising."  
  
"I know. I'll get him."  
  
He heard her footsteps, then felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Hey. Wake up, kid."  
  
He liked how she said 'kid'. It didn't sound like, _you don't know what you're talking about_. It sounded like, _I promise not to ask_. She hadn't asked his name, so he hadn't needed to lie. He had fallen asleep on the couch; Genya told him to lie down and rest and she didn't need to say it twice.  
  
"Five more minutes, please?" Wylan objected.  
  
"You can sleep more later. Come meet my husband and have dinner, then you can sleep."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
Food? He would gladly postpone sleep for more food. Wylan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his good hand, though as he sat up, Genya caught his bad one.  
  
"What's this?" she asked.  
  
Wylan swallowed. _I fell in the river…_ "It was an accident," he tried.  
  
"David, come take a look at this!" she called.  
  
"It's not that bad," he objected, but Genya didn't let go.  
  
David was a thin, olive-skinned man whose dark hair fell over his eyes in a way that might have been deliberate, just like his shirt might have been intentionally wrinkled, but it seemed more careless. He looked at Wylan in a vague way.  
  
"This is my husband, David."  
  
"It's nice to meet you, sir." Wylan might have been confused, half-asleep, his hand throbbing gently, but he still had his manners.  
  
David gave an awkward shrug. "Call me David."  
  
Genya directed his attention to the wound on Wylan's hand. It still hadn't entirely closed, but it was swollen and didn't bleed anymore.  
  
"That's infected," David said matter-of-factly, then walked out of the room. Wylan heard water running in the kitchen.  
  
"It was an accident," he repeated to Genya.  
  
"I believe you, but it still needs to be taken care of. David's a little brief sometimes. Don't take it personally."  
  
David returned carrying a large bowl. "This is salt water. Keep your hand in it for twenty minutes. It'll help clean out the wound and it might kill the bacteria. Maybe. Unless they're halotolerant. That means—"  
  
"Resistant to a high-salinity environment," Wylan supplied. "I know. They resist osmosis triggers so the cells won't dehydrate and collapse."  
  
David set the bowl on the coffee table. Genya cleared her throat; David lifted the bowl again and Genya placed a magazine under it.  
  
"Go ahead," she told Wylan. He hesitated a moment longer, then sank his hand into the water. It stung at first, but that was hardly the worst pain he'd felt in the past days.  
  
"At least you brought home an interesting stray this time," David said.  
  
"The cat was interesting."  
  
"The cat was a horror."  
  
"You're only saying that because she peed on your notes."  
  
"I know."  
  
Genya sighed. "Well, at least admit she was an interesting horror!"  
  
David considered that for a moment, then said, "No."  
  
Genya laughed and kissed him. "Sit down and talk to the kid," she told him, "I'll make coffee."  
  
"I'll help," Wylan volunteered. He started to stand, but Genya placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently back down, giving his soaking hand a meaningful look. Oh… right.  
  
Which meant Wylan was alone with Genya's husband. He tried to keep his hand in the water and shift back at the same time.  
  
"I heard you earlier. Genya helped me," he said. "I don't want to do anything to hurt her. If you want me to leave, I'll leave." He wasn't sure where he could go and desperately hoped David wouldn't tell him he couldn't stay.  
  
"She seems to like you. It's not forever, but you can stay for a while."  
  
Wylan nodded, breathing easier. "Thank you."  
  
He didn't need forever. He would come up with a plan. There had to be jobs in this town, right? Things he could do? He wasn't very strong or academically accomplished, but there were always dishes to wash and floors to scrub.  
  
"Do you like science, then?" David asked.  
  
"Yes," Wylan said. "Math is my favorite. It's pure, objective truth regardless of circumstance."  
  
"Math is fine. I prefer chemistry, though."  
  
"Chemistry... once, my tutor and I did an experiment mixing potassium chlorate and sucrose—"  
  
"Ah! Purple fire!" David said it like an agreement, enthusiastic at the idea.  
  
Wylan smiled and nodded. It had been one of the first chemistry experiments they did; his tutor was trying to interest him in the subject and it worked like a charm. It thoroughly whetted the then-14-year-old's curiosity. Why did it happen? What was it about those two substances that caused such a violent reaction? Where did the heat come from? Why was it purple? Nobody had ever asked him why he liked it. David didn’t either, but he seemed to understand.  
  
Genya returned carrying three mugs, two with coffee and one with milk, the latter for Wylan. He and David chorused their thanks.  
  
"You two seem to be getting on," she said.  
  
David shrugged. "He's interesting."  
  
"I always preferred building a closed environment to an explosion," Genya said, "but then, I'm more fond of biological science and ecosystems."  
  
"I've made those before," Wylan volunteered eagerly, keen to have both David and Genya pleased with his studies. He used to be a good student. A long time ago. His birthday was just late enough in the year to make him one of the youngest students in his kindergarten class. He had been so eager; he remembered peeking into his box of perfect, unused crayons and inhaling the clean, promising scent of wax. Back then it was okay that he was a slower reader because _it's not uncommon for boys,_ as his teacher told his parents. That was when they were proud of Wylan and his father made time for parent-teacher nights. But even once his mother was gone and his father made clear he would approve of nothing until Wylan could read, he found he could win over his tutors and earn their approval with math and science. It was the same with David and Genya now.  
  
"A closed system?" Genya asked.  
  
He nodded.  
  
They talked for hours, all of them trading anecdotes about science experiments they had run, either recently or in their youth. Wylan barely noticed as his worries slipped away, as he began to relax. He barely noticed that he had started smiling.  
  
He barely even noticed how late it was until he couldn't stop yawning.  
  
But he did notice that, for the first time in months, he didn't feel scared or cold or alone when he fell asleep.


	11. Challah

After a few days, Wylan had a sort of routine. He woke up when David did. Mostly he stayed curled up on the couch, feigning sleep because David didn’t like company in the morning. So Wylan listened to the telling sounds: footsteps, the pipes whining to life before David brushed his teeth, mumbles of chemical equations under his breath. He shut the door very softly. Wylan didn’t know if that was to avoid waking him, to avoid waking Genya, or just habit, but he still appreciated it. David was a difficult man to get a read on, but there was something reassuring in his quiet. 

Wylan would stay on the couch for a while. He didn’t like getting up before Genya did. What if they came for him and she wasn’t there? They would listen to her if she said he could stay, right? She was an adult, a normal adult. They would listen to her.

Besides, Genya had an unfailing sweet tooth.

He listened to the sounds of her waking up, teeth brushed and clothes donned, the shuffled steps that had taken a distinctive note of energy by the time she reached the living room.

“You awake?”

Wylan nodded, making his eyes crack open.

“French toast?”

Another nod.

She always made French toast. He knew she did, because the other day she told him it was nice to have someone to share it with. She had also said she liked sharing French toast _with him_ , an entirely different matter that felt like sunshine.

Wylan made himself leave the couch. He had a little pile of clothes from the secondhand shop, folded carefully beside the couch. He picked out a shirt and one of his two pairs of jeans—because this wasn’t a long-term thing yet, officially, because they were all waiting to find out what the future would be, so he only had a few things for now. Like he was visiting.   
  
He supposed he was. 

In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and made himself look in the mirror. It was getting easier. His face was still thin, but the shadows under his eyes were diminishing and there was something in them that looked almost alive again. He was still hated his haircut and winced at how badly his skin was breaking out, but it was less awful now. He stripped down and considered his bruises. There were a few cuts, nicks, but everything seemed to be healing.

It wasn’t his body. Wylan’s body was soft, and if it was bruised, those bruises usually clustered around his abdomen, upper arm sometimes. Wylan’s hands were marked with faint traces of graphite. Things had happened to this body that hadn't happened to his. So why did he care how battered it was? If it wasn’t his body, and he was the only one using it, then it wasn’t anyone’s body, so anything that happened to it was no one’s concern.   
  
He dressed his unfamiliar body, anyway, in his jeans and t-shirt and two pairs of socks, then folded the long shirt he slept in, passed the doors to the linen closet and Genya’s room and the third door, and went to fold up his blanket and tuck it and his pillow and clothes into the corner.

By then the house smelled of cooking eggs and vanilla. Wylan slid into a seat at the table just in time to receive a plate of French toast. He managed to wait for Genya, not just tear into it, even though his stomach grumbled like it might try to crawl up his gullet and grab that toast with its own hands.

Not that Wylan thought his stomach had hands. That mental image was almost enough to put him off his meal.

Almost.

Sometimes… sometimes Wylan had to look over his shoulder, just a quick glance, just to be sure no one else was here. And sometimes Genya gave him soft, sad looks. They did each other the courtesy of pretending not to notice.

Sometimes he wondered how she got the scars on her face, but it would be rude to ask.

It was like that every morning. David. Genya. French toast. Wylan offered to wash the dishes and sometimes Genya accepted the offer, sometimes not. He had learned to do that, to wash dishes. He didn’t wash dishes before. He had learned to sweep and dust, too.

After breakfast, Genya changed the dressing on Wylan's hand while he tried not to squirm. He told her it didn't hurt. She had a way of looking at him that called him out for lying, but not like she was mad. If anything, she seemed amused. Once his hand was looked after, he followed Genya to her shop. She went slowly, something his still-aching blisters appreciated even with their bandages and double socks. When she left the house, she touched the little box on the door jamb. She had offered to take him to the library, but Wylan insisted he wanted to make himself useful. He helped how he could: he dusted the shelves and swept up the dust, dirt, and scraps of thread. 

Genya wasn’t only a tailor. A person couldn’t make a living at that anymore, she explained, she took in all sorts of sewing and sold things online. She showed Wylan how to cut pieces for a quilt she wanted to make out of her fabric scraps—really he was just tidying edges, the pieces were so little already.

“Genya?” Wylan ventured, carefully setting aside the wickedly sharp rotary cutter.

“What’s up, kid?”

He worked in graphite, in shapes and shadows, edges and light. But there was every color he had ever dreamed and more here.

“How do you… how do you make it… fit? All the colors?”

“In this case, I don’t have to,” she told him, “I’m just grouping them—light and dark. The light pile is smaller, so those ones will be used for contrast. They’ll define the pattern because of how they stand out. Make sense?”

It didn’t, but Wylan nodded.

Genya laughed. He loved her laugh. It didn’t have a single angle in it.

“That’s okay. You’ll see it when I’m finished. Then you’ll get it. That’s why I love quilts so much. They start out as disparate pieces, but they look so complete put together, so intentional. You’ll see,” she repeated, and he believed her.

On Friday, she closed her shop earlier than usual. Just a few days, but it was enough for Wylan to feel a tremor of unease at this break in routine.

“This time of year, David is home before sundown. I like to keep Shabbat more traditionally when I can,” she explained.

Again Wylan nodded without understanding.

“I know you’re not Jewish,” Genya said, and she was clearly prepared to continue, but Wylan had to ask.

“How?” He had tried not to let on anything about himself!

“Because you don’t recognize the mezuzah, didn’t know what challah was, and don’t know what Shabbat is. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m telling you this so you know you don’t have to participate in anything you don’t want to. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“What’s Shabbat?” he asked, following Genya to the kitchen.

“Shabbat is Jewish Sabbath. It starts at sundown on Friday and goes until sundown on Saturday, that’s why it’s different when David is home before sundown. We’re practical people. And not that observant, anyway. When we start Shabbat late…” She shrugged. “So we start Shabbat late. Not a big deal.”

There was a baking tray on the table with six balls of puffy dough which, Wylan learned, was for challah—a type of bread. Genya put him to work rolling dough as she explained, “The little box I touch every time I come home, inside that is a prayer scroll called a mezuzah. Touching it is like saying a prayer.”

“It’s like a whole new vocabulary,” Wylan said, trying to commit the terms to memory. He was enjoying working with the dough. It had an almost sweet, heady scent and was surprisingly warm in his hands. He expected it to be cold, like clay, but it was warm and springy.

Genya shrugged. “All cultures have their own values and practices. It's only natural they have their own vocabulary as well.”

“They do?”

“Sure. Christians have Eucharists, baptisms, the Trinity, crucifixes, Purgatory…”

“Huh.”

Wylan had never thought about that. While he knew what all of those words meant, growing up Christian, he had just taken them as normal, words everyone would know.

All six dough balls had been rolled out now. 

“Okay, stand back, minion,” Genya said, using another sort of tone that warmed him through. Wylan watched as she arranged all six long strands and began winding them in a complicated braid. The way her hands moved was sure and somehow rhythmic, though he couldn’t make sense of the rhythm. 

“Um… Genya… can I… can I ask you something? It’s kind of… well…”

“Personal?”

“It’s just, all the other Jewish people I’ve ever met have been different. You could tell.”

For a moment, he wondered if he had offended her. Then Genya asked, “Guys with long beards and big hats?”

Wylan nodded.

“They were Orthodox. Some Jews practice that way—grow their beards, don’t use technology on Shabbat, the women wear long skirts. David and I are reform. We have a more modern, less literal approach. I’m guessing most Jews you’ve met have been white?”

That was also true, but Wylan wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just blushed and stammered something unhelpful.

“It’s okay. David is Sephardic.” Genya finished braiding the dough. She sprinkled it with flour and tossed a kitchen towel over it. Then she brushed off her hands and pulled a pepper and an onion from the fridge. She handed him the pepper. “I need that chopped. Sephardic Jews initially lived in Spain and Portugal, but were driven out in the 1400's and settled around the Mediterranean. Mostly. David’s grandfather emigrated to the United States from Morocco. I’m Ashkenazi, that means historically my people are from Europe, non-expelled. My family came here from Russia.”

Wylan tried to keep that all straight in his head as he carefully sliced up the pepper for her. He guessed he knew a hint of his own family’s history, but nothing so specific. He was pretty sure they were Dutch, but that was something like a dozen generations ago.

Genya must have seen that Wylan was trying to make sense of it all, because she said, “I know, it’s a lot. Being Jewish is kind of like growing up in a history classroom.”

“So… if you’re different sorts of Jewish, is it strange to be married?” he asked. “I mean—is it like being Catholic and marrying a Lutheran?”

Genya laughed. “I guess I didn’t explain very well. No, it’s nothing like that, because Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews are different ethnic groups, not religious groups. We come from different places, but have similar beliefs and practices.”

“Oh!” Now he understood. Truthfully Wylan had always thought of being Jewish as one thing, and his mental image was what Genya referred to as Orthodox Jews. He hadn’t really thought about it, but why shouldn’t Jews be as diverse a group as Christians?

He finished chopping the pepper and Genya swept it into a bowl with the onion she had chopped.

“Nice work there, kid.”

Warm…

Wylan beamed before he could stop himself. The thought sparked through his mind of Genya ruffling his hair—then he remembered that he didn’t have hair enough to ruffle, and that she had only known him for a few days. He looked away. 

“Can I, um, c-can I help with anything else?” he asked.

Genya rested a hand on his shoulder. Wylan’s breath caught. He had noticed that she was physical with her affection, but usually that meant a pat on the arm or something small. This was solid and steady. He didn’t know how to react to it, to the vulnerability it melted into him. No one had touched him gently since…

Then, suddenly, she turned away and wiped her eyes.

“Genya?”

_Cold._

“The onions are catching up with me,” she said. “You know what, I think I have this covered, why don’t you go play outside?”

Play outside? Wylan blinked, looking up in surprise. Was she… mad at him?

“I thought I did it just like you showed me.”

“No, no, you did, I just—I can’t keep you cooped up, you’re a kid, you should play outside.”

Wylan chewed his thumb, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he nodded and went outside like she asked.

He didn’t actually like playing outside. He never had. Even as a child, he knew he was bad at sports, didn’t like kicking a ball around and had never fully mastered bicycling. He wandered up and down the driveway, trying to think of a “play” thing to do. The only playing Wylan really liked was his flute. And… he had liked being with his boyfriend. Just being with him felt like playing, joyful and exuberant energy. They’d played games, too, cards and “two truths and a lie”… 

Wylan spotted a piece of chalk, one of the blue pieces Genya used for marking fabric. He probably should just hold onto it and return it. She would need it. But… she did have a lot of them. She wouldn’t miss just one. Right?

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until he heard the car coming up the driveway. Wylan scrambled to get out of the way, but David stopped well before the wheels touched either Wylan or his drawing.

“Huh,” he said, giving the picture a long look. “That’s quite good.”

“Thanks.”

Wylan glanced back at the house, then at David.

“Is everything okay? You look… not okay.”

“I think Genya’s upset with me. I didn’t mean to, but I said something…”

David nodded. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Wylan wasn’t sure what else to do, so he kept working on his picture. He tried not to listen in on Genya and David’s conversation. Luckily he only heard muffled voices through the door, so he couldn’t inadvertently eavesdrop. If they made him leave—maybe he should have grabbed his sweatshirt before heading outside. He wasn’t cold, but if they made him leave, he would have liked to have something warmed than this t-shirt. He didn’t know where he would go or what he would do.

The impermanence of his situation struck him. Wylan shivered. Would it always be this way? Would he always have to ask, have to wonder?

David returned a few minutes later. Wylan scrambled to his feet, dusting off his knees and hands. He looked at David, but David’s expressions were harder to read than most, always filtered through screens of puzzlement and inscrutability. Instead, Wylan look at David’s hands. They were tugging at his cuffs. But then his father’s hands had always moved quite quickly from one task to another.

It was strange to know that David was also looking at his hands. He rarely looked at anyone else, Wylan had noticed.

“Genya’s not angry,” David said, “but she is worried she upset you. You didn’t do anything wrong. This entire situation would be remedied quickest if you would come inside and we can have dinner.”

Wylan hesitated, then nodded.

In the kitchen, Genya gave him a weak smile. There was faint redness at her eyes and nose. She had placed three candles on the table and explained, “We welcome the Sabbath by lighting and blessing the candles. We good on time?”

David nodded.

“Good.”

Genya struck a match and lit the candles. They just looked like normal candles to Wylan, but he kept that opinion to himself. Once the flames were lit, Genya covered her eyes. Was he supposed to do that? Wylan glanced at David, who had not covered his eyes, but he noticed something else about David. He was looking at Genya with pure adoration on his face. As she recited words in another language, he watched, utterly enraptured. 

She finished reciting, then let her hands dance slow, broad circles over the flames. Finally she turned to David and offered her hand.

“Shabbat shalom.”

“Shabbat shalom,” David replied. He squeezed her hand. He didn’t use the words, but the look on his face may as well have been shouting _I love you_.

“Now come have dinner,” Genya told Wylan, “before my husband turns into a raccoon,” and he started, hesitantly, to feel the chill leave him.

“That makes no sense,” David objected, as he and Genya took seats at the table. Wylan was only a few moments behind.

“Have you ever seen a raccoon go after food? It makes perfect sense.”

“I don’t like metaphors.”

Genya sighed. “Okay, you, stop complaining when there’s shakshuka, and you, eat your dinner.” 

The former was addressed to David; the latter was for Wylan. Most meals he had eaten here were foods he knew. Dinner tonight was slices of the bread he had helped make earlier—well, “helped” might have been an exaggeration, but it was the same braided loaf!—and eggs in a thick red sauce. He had never seen this dish before, but had better manners than to say as much. Instead he watched Genya tear off a piece of bread, scoop up some of the sauce, and pop it into her mouth. Wylan copied her.

He expected it to taste like marinara sauce. Both were tomato-based, but that was the only similarity. This was thicker and the spices were entirely different, bolder. Wylan was aware of Genya trying not to show that she was watching him.

Wylan swallowed. There was plenty left on his plate, but he made a point of his response: he reached for the serving spoon and scooped seconds on top of his firsts.

Genya laughed. “I guess you like it, then.”

After dinner, things felt normal. Wylan helped clean up the kitchen. David didn't care for any assistance in washing the dishes, but Wylan could put away leftovers. He couldn’t help half-sneaking one more slice of bread—not that he had any success.

“I helped with it,” he explained, sheepish.

“You did,” Genya agreed, ruffling his not-hair. It didn’t feel the way having his curls ruffled did, but was still nice. “You gonna help me again next week?”

Wylan nodded eagerly, both because he wanted to help her again and because he wanted to be here next Friday. He would have agreed to anything to make her smile at him again.

Genya sliced a piece of bread for herself. She spread butter on it and sprinkled it with cinnamon sugar. Wylan copied her. They traded glances and smiles and ate their bread.

As part of their routine, David checked on Wylan's infected hand. He knew from Genya that David had given himself all manner of injuries with reckless science. As he did not care for doctors, there had been no choice but to learn basic first aid. Through David, Wylan knew that his hand was improving day by day.

Genya, David, and Wylan usually played a game after dinner. That night they played one he didn’t really understand, aesthetically—the game was fairly new, but the images looked like old computer graphics. He didn’t know why dying of dysentery made Genya laugh so much, either, but he supposed it was a good way to learn about the Oregon Trail. Because the cards had so many words on them, Wylan begged off playing, saying he would rather watch. He said the rules looked complicated. 

Wylan knew he was an inconvenience in the evenings. The couch was his bed; he hid his yawns as long as he could, but Genya caught him quickly enough. She always did.

That night, Wylan pulled aside the curtain just enough to look up at the stars. He heard Genya and David’s soft voices from their bedroom and something in his stomach churned, hoping they weren’t talking about him. He already loved living here. He knew it wasn’t permanent, but he also knew he would wake up here tomorrow, and make challah with Genya next week. 

For right now, it could be enough.


	12. The Birthday Party

DAVID  
  
David did not care for Nikolai's office. It wasn't dirty, which would imply bacterial concerns or vermin, simply another vector for bacterial concerns; in fact it was extremely clean. It was untidy, though. David did not care for excessive untidiness. He believed Nikolai's untidiness to be excessive. Truly this was the desk of a man who did not appreciate hanging folders. Everything besides the desktop was tidy, however. There were two chairs on the non-Nikolai side of the desk—though really it was all the Nikolai side of the desk, his paper stacks reached all corners. David liked the black filing cabinets. They showed that the office was kept clean, not a bit of dust.  
  
"David!" Nikolai greeted him. He was the sort who always looked intentionally disheveled in a way Genya said mirrored David: David's shirts wound up rumpled and stained simply by touching him, Nikolai had his top button undone and could even make an untucked shirt look intentional if he put his mind to it. David noted that Nikolai was currently twirling a pen in a way that would have looked distracted in someone else. "How I've missed you, what did you blow up this time?"  
  
"Nothing," David replied. He paused a moment. "Nothing that wasn't slated for a controlled demolition."  
  
"And here I was thinking you would make my day interesting. You've disappointed me."  
  
David thought on that. He watched the drinking bird on Nikolai's desk bob rhythmically. It had a black top hat, a painted-on monocle, and a sticker of a lipsticky kiss on its bulbous backside. When its head bobbed down, the sticker was mostly revealed, but the bottom of the white outline was too low under the bird.  
  
"Not really," Nikolai added. "What's going on?"  
  
"It's a personal matter. Genya brought home another stray."  
  
Nikolai sighed. " _No,_ David. You know I love Genya, but I can't take in another cat."  
  
"She wants to keep this one."  
  
"You're not zoned for a pet?"  
  
"He's human."  
  
Humans were not pets.  
  
Nikolai sat up straight. "Have a seat." He picked up a yellow legal pad, clicked his pen, and said, "Tell me what happened."  
  
So David told him. He told Nikolai about the boy Genya brought home. In the few days he had lived with them, the boy had been quiet, polite, and helpful. Well, not _objectively_ helpful, but he certainly aspired toward helpfulness. Stuck to Genya, mostly. And the bruises. David could only conclude that he came from a violent home. How he wound up at their doorstep was anyone's guess, but someone had clearly beaten him badly.  
  
"What's your opinion?" David asked as the drinking bird bobbed its kissy sticker back toward him.  
  
"I'm not sure," Nikolai said. "What you and Genya went through last year…"  
  
David nodded. "I had my concerns as well, but she seems happy."  
  
"And you?"  
  
An unexpected question, and David had to ask: "Why would I ask your help if I didn't want to keep him?"  
  
Nikolai nodded. "Bring him to the party this weekend. I'd like to meet him."  
  
"Okay," David agreed, not especially concerned about whether or not the kid would want to go. If Genya asked, he would go with her. David hesitated. Then, "Nikolai, I… he…" He shook his head, unable to find the words.   
  
One of the things that had initially made David comfortable with Nikolai was that while Nikolai liked reading people and generally did it well, he asked. Most people disliked David over their own presumptions that rarely reflected who he was.  
  
This time, Nikolai understood.  
  
"I'll do what I can."

* * *

  
  


WYLAN

The whole situation made Wylan uncomfortable. He didn't like parties. What if he said the wrong thing? He often did. And that was in a world he knew, in his father's world! That was when he had a lifetime of learning the right thing to say! Now? How could he know what to say now?   
  
So beyond the pleasantries, when Genya introduced him as their "unofficial foster kid", Wylan mostly said two things: "Can I help?" and "I'll get it!" Couldn't go wrong saying those things!    
  
David had greeted everyone, then gone to sit quietly and read. Wylan was jealous, but if he couldn't hide in a quiet corner, he could accept the best alternative: sticking close to Genya. She kept reaching over to touch his shoulder or his arm, which was reassuring.   
  
They were in Genya's friend's backyard and he would readily admit that it was a nice yard. Broad and green, with a concrete area with tables and a charcoal barbeque. Someone had decorated enthusiastically. The party was, he had been told, a birthday-slash-graduation party. There was one other person around his age there, but she was the woman from the gas station and his face went splotchy when he tried to talk to her. What could he say? 

_ I remember you, you were kind to me when it just about saved my life?  
  
_ Luckily, she had simply given him a nod and chatted with others.   
  
"There should be another bag of ice in the kitchen," said Genya's friend Zoya's boyfriend—Nikolai… at least, Wylan was pretty sure his name was Nikolai.   
  
Wylan used his second catchphrase: "I'll get it!"   
  
As he headed inside, he heard Zoya say, "Are you sure you don't want to trade? Take Nina, you know what you get with Nina."   
  
He just heard someone else arriving as he reached the kitchen. Wylan… liked this. He liked these people. He liked where he was. That made him a little nervous, staying here was no guarantee, but more and more the past few days it had happened. Wylan had been happy.   


He found the ice easily enough, a ten-pound bag in the sink. More than he liked to make himself useful, though, Wylan liked taking a look. He had never lived this way. Zoya and Nina’s place was like Genya and David’s: somebody’s home, where people lived who looked after themselves. They lived lives with things like arguing over chores, watching TV together, and tripping over sneakers left just inside the front door. He liked seeing the details of those lives. In the kitchen, it was the dishes drying beside the sink and the type of coffee Zoya drank (dark roast, but given her personal intensity that was unsurprising). He wanted to look in the cupboards, just for the details, but that was too invasive. Looking at what was already out, Wylan thought, was fair.

The ice already felt too cold and wet against his forearms. Wylan headed out of the kitchen. Everyone seemed to be comfortably chatting and there was a warm sort of noise as he approached, a sound with a melody that rose and fell and jarred like jazz could when someone laughed loudly.

Wylan noted two new arrivals.

And dropped ten pounds of ice, narrowly missing his own toes.

He had known this party was for Nina’s friend’s birthday and for Nina’s graduation ("Mostly the birthday thing," Nina had added, "but it’s not  _ not  _ about my graduation.") but no one had told him anything about Nina’s friend. Why would they? He only knew Genya and David, and the customers who had come through while Wylan helped Genya in her shop. Wylan wasn’t expected to know Nina’s friend, a guy she knew from school.

The melody ebbed as, one by one, the adults realized Wylan and Nina’s friend were staring at each other. 

"Jes?" asked Nina.

_ Nina.  _ How many times had he mentioned his friend Nina? But it wasn't a rare name, and Wylan hadn't thought this Nina was the same Nina who knew a ton about everything, the Nina who loved the '80s.

"Ah," said Nikolai. 

Zoya smacked his arm.

"That was rather unfair, Zoya."

"No, it wasn’t."

"What’s going on?" asked the man beside… Jes? He had an accent Wylan didn't need to place. Welsh. He had never heard a Welsh accent before, but he remembered.

It’s not that Wylan thought his real name was ‘Mister Hale’. He just never had a name to call him, so he thought of him visually. Whatever his name was, he was taller than his father—though, he was taller than most people.

"You didn’t know, did you?" Nikolai asked Genya.    
  
"Know what?" David asked.

The last time Wylan saw… Jes… he wasn’t used to knowing his name—the last time they saw one another, Wylan hadn't known it was for the last time. He tried so hard that day in the hotel to find the right words, he tried to explain. Ultimately, he wasn’t able to do it. More than anything he wished he had been able to say how good he had felt that day, how amazing Jes was. The text messages had been horrible, the ones he sent and the hurt, confused ones he received. That was Wylan’s fault. Wylan hurt him.

"I… I’m sorry," he managed. Sorry, and shocked! He had never dreamed they would see each other again. Of course, Hale—Jes—he had every right to be mad, every right to hate Wylan, to—

"Wait." Nina got there. "This is Wylan Van Eck?"

"No!" Wylan objected, his face flooding. "I mean, y-yes, but…"

"You don’t want his name?" Nikolai asked.   
  
It was true that Wylan wanted to shrug off his father's name like an ill-fitting coat, leave it behind. He wasn't proud of it, but he wanted to reject the name just as he felt rejected by his father. How did Nikolai know that, though? How did he say it like he knew, when he  _ couldn't  _ know?

Wylan nodded. He felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to his head. It left him with a spinning, weightless sensation. They knew. They all knew. He felt every fragile hope he had built crashing down. They wouldn’t keep him now. He would have to… he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he would do and maybe he had been foolish to ever think he could stay here.   
  
"You look different," Nina said.   
  
"I know," Wylan agreed. He saw it in the mirror. He looked older, somehow, in addition to the sunburns on his face and the worst bout of acne he had experienced. And… well… "It's the haircut."

"The boys need to talk," Jes’s father said. "Go on, lads."

They walked out to the edge of the lawn, away from everyone else, though still very much under scrutiny. Wylan bounced in his sneakers, feeling the wet grass shifting his feet. Crickets were chirping somewhere nearby, louder than the murmur of human voices behind them.   
  
"What happened to you?" Jes asked. He took a bit of string from his pocket and, as he talked, wound it around his fingers, unwound it, started over. "You look—are you okay?"   
  
Wylan looked at his shoes, at the shadows in the grass. He thought about how difficult they would be to draw. There were so many, each blade of grass casting its own shadow, shadows over shadow, hints of green in overlapping layers of less and less light.   
  
He wished he could disappear into those shadows. He looked like ten miles of bad road. 

"I'm sorry for how I ended things," he said. He didn't want to answer those questions, put words to what happened or admit that he didn't know if he was okay. He didn't want to know what… his friend? His ex-boyfriend?... what he thought about Wylan not looking cute anymore.

The string wound through his fingers. "Did he make you do it? Or were you really done with me?"

Softly, Wylan admitted, "He made me. I like you, I didn't lie about that. You're special. Being with you was some of the best times of my life. We… whatever we had, it—it was real. You were right."

Wylan’s father was a difficult man to refuse. It wasn’t just the force of his personality, although that was enough to make Wylan shake when turned fully against him. It wasn’t just his connections, or his willingness to raise a hand and see to it that his will was carried out. Until Jan Van Eck got rid of his son, he had been all the family Wylan had.  
  
"You kept telling me to stop texting you."   
  
Yes, Wylan had done that. He remembered that day in the hotel, how fresh sobs bubbled inside him every time he saw a text. All he had wanted was to put away what had happened between them. He had wanted to forget it, because having anything made his nothing so much worse.   
  
"It hurt too much," Wylan said. "I'm sorry."   


The other boy nodded. Wylan just waited. He had every right to be angry after what Wylan had done. Maybe he should have told the truth, admitted that his father forced him to end things. His father would have been angry, but so what when Wylan was already being punished.  
  
"My name is Jesper Fahey," he said, not as expressive as he usually was, but slightly less broken. He had paused his hands with the string wrapped halfway through his fingers. "Seems like the sort of thing you should know, since I'm going to be part of your life."

Wylan couldn’t stop himself grinning. "It’s really nice to meet you, Jesper Fahey." 

It was a really nice name to say.  
  
_ Jesper _ suited him better than Jes. It was… complete. There was an awful lot to him to be confined to a single syllable. Jes, Wylan thought, was fine as long as one knew it was only half his name. Jesper, though, was a great name. Wylan's heart fluttered a little hearing it. Or maybe that was from standing so close to him.

"Your turn," Jesper said.   


Wylan shook his head. "You already know my name."

"I want to hear it from you."

"Wylan," he said. He didn’t have any jokes ready. He didn’t have anything else to add. He was Wylan and that was all he had to offer. 

"Hi, Wylan."

"Hi."

"So… you come here often?" he asked, a note of slyness creeping into his voice, and Wylan found himself laughing again.

"No," he said, "this is my first time."

"You, me, and first times. It’s fate."

Wylan laughed. He didn’t know what else to do. He was happy and highly susceptible to Jesper’s jokes.

Jesper returned his string to his pocket and put an arm around Wylan's shoulders. Wylan could feel Jesper reading his responses, judging if and when it was okay.

"Wanna be my boyfriend?" Jesper asked. "It sucks being gay out here. People at school call you names and trip you in the halls. So if you want to just be friends until we graduate, or just friends at all, I won’t blame you."   


Hearing the sweet optimism in his voice just about shattered Wylan's heart. "Jesper, I can’t stay here. I want… I… but I can’t stay. Not with everyone knowing who I am."

"I’m going to guess Nikolai disagrees. Come on. If anyone can work the magic to keep you here, it’s him."   
  
They walked back to the others, Jesper's arm around Wylan's shoulders. Wylan had absolutely no objection. He leaned against Jesper, enjoying being here, being next to him.   
  
"Hey, everyone listen up a minute!" Jesper announced. The others were standing about chatting and occasionally casting less than subtle glances at Jesper and Wylan, except David, who was sitting off to the side reading. The talking stopped at Jesper's request. "This is my boyfriend, Wylan."   
  
Adrenaline shot through Wylan. How could Jesper just say that? Wylan looked from one person to the next, searching for some sign of rejection, of readiness to turn him in. He wanted to cringe closer to Jesper; he wanted to stand up like he didn't care.   
  
Instead, he objected, strangled, "Y-you can't—Jesper…"   
  
"We support you," Genya said. "Don't we, David?"   
  
David looked up from his book. "Hm?"   
  
"Tell him he can date Jesper."   
  
"Oh. Hm. Jesper's very clever, it's good to date someone who can match you intellectually."   
  
Genya sighed and shook her head. "They're boys. We're not homophobic."   
  
"Oh! That," David said. "No, we're not."   
  
"See?" Jesper said. "It's fine. Now, two important points: Genya, we can negotiate Wylan time."   
  
Genya was grinning at them both. "I'm sure we can work something out," she said. There was nothing to frighten him in her voice. She sounded happy.  _ Safe _ . And David implied their relationship was  _ good _ ! It thawed Wylan some to know he still had adults in his corner.   
  
"Point two," Jesper continued, "Nina, I have a boyfriend and you don't."   
  
Nina scoffed. "I don't want your stupid boyfriend."   
  
"My boyfriend is not stupid, he's a genius. You can have Kaz," Jesper offered.   
  
Wylan wanted to object that he was by no one's definition a genius, but getting a word in edgewise with this crowd proved challenging.   
  
"Rude," Nina said. "No. Wylan, you're not allowed to take Jesper away. He's the reason our gang works. You'll have to join."   
  
"We're getting matching tattoos this summer," Jesper added, and Wylan sincerely hoped that was a joke. "Oh! And now I'm not the youngest. No more jokes. Perfect. We're keeping you. You might even meet Kaz tonight."   
  
"What kind of tool doesn't show up for his best friend's eighteenth birthday?" Nina asked.   
  
"Speaking of it being my birthday, weren't we going to have a barbeque?" Jesper asked. "It smells like we are. I don't mean to be rude, but..."   
  
"He's always hungry," his father said. "I don't want any of you thinking I don't feed him."   
  
"Nobody thinks that, Da."   
  
Zoya agreed, "Most of us were teenagers at one time. Except David, he was born in his fifties."   
  
"I'm thirty-six," David said, matter-of-fact, without looking up from his book.    
  
Nikolai stepped up to do the grilling. The man made Wylan a touch uncomfortable for just how much he seemed to know, but Wylan offered to help him, anyway. Maybe he was just as well around someone like Nikolai. You couldn't disappoint someone who already knew, right? He hesitated just for a moment, looking to Genya, then shifted to help Nikolai once she nodded her approval.   
  
Jesper gasped in mock outrage. "He's already abandoning me!" he mourned, but allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion with Nina. The not  _ not _ a graduation party took a decidedly graduation turn as they focused on Nina's upcoming classes—it sounded like she was staying at Zoya's and taking online classes for at least a year.   
  
Nikolai did not need much assistance—grilling burgers, even for a big group, was pretty much a one-person job. Wylan enjoyed observing him, though. The domesticity of mundane tasks fascinated him. Even tasks he had discovered that he disliked, such as washing dishes, were interesting in their own way. They were a part of life he had just never experienced before. Besides, he liked the plays of light on soap bubbles and the way the charcoal glowed beneath the grill. Wylan worked mostly with graphite, but he wouldn't mind attempting a red, black, and gray sketch to capture the charcoal's heat.   
  
When everyone sat down to eat, David joined in with the group for the first time. It seemed strange to Wylan. David wasn't quiet at home but had barely said a word tonight. Then again, Wylan found, one could easily fade into the background with this group. The conversation in no way diminished with the addition of food. Jesper and Nina were both talkers, and Zoya, Nikolai, and Genya were none too reserved, either.    
  
Wylan sat quietly between Jesper and Genya and enjoyed everyone else's pronounced happiness. The conversation was so honest, so pleasant, it lulled him. For a while, he could let everything slip away. He could stop worrying about his father, his future, the election.   
  
He told himself he was resting his eyes, that was all, and he was almost asleep when Nikolai said, "Shall we talk about the elephant in the room?"   
  
Wylan blinked and refocused on the scene around him. Somehow the meal had ended, passed in a blur of sound and food, and now there were empty or mostly-empty plates in front of everyone.    
  
"Only if you use a non-political metaphor," Nina answered Nikolai's question.   
  
"Gritty," Jesper said.    
  
After a moment's uncertain quiet, Nina asked, "The Philadelphia Flyers mascot?"   
  
"Yes, the Philadelphia Flyers mascot! An obvious problem. And a ginger, like Wylan."   
  
"I'm not a ginger," Wylan objected.    
  
"You're kind of ginger."   
  
"Gritty's  _ orange _ ," Nina added. "Gritty's like a massive Cheeto in a bowl of Sunny D."   
  
"Nina, that's a horrible thought. We've strayed from the point," Nikolai said. "We need to talk about custody."

"Da?" Jesper asked.

Jesper's father opened his mouth, a look of uncertainty on his face.

"Best if you don't, Colm," Nikolai said. "Even a sleepover with these two could raise concerns. And Wylan already has a home."

"He can't even hang out?" Jesper asked. "Why?"

"Because he's sixteen and this is Iowa."

"I'm almost seventeen," Wylan objected.

"You're a minor and the son of one of the most prominent men in the country. Jesper is legally an adult. I'll do everything I can to conceal Wylan's identity, but even I have limits. If there were even the appearance of impropriety it would go badly for Jesper. I'm sorry, but these are the facts."

Jesper huffed and slouched in his seat. Wylan squeezed his hand gently. This changed nothing between them. He wasn't sure what was between them, but this didn't change it. But… something else might.

"Genya, may I speak with you, please? Privately?"

She looked surprised, but nodded. "Of course."   
  
"We should probably head inside, anyway," Nina said, already standing and collecting the dirty plates. "We'll all give you two some privacy."

Wylan knew what Nikolai would say next. Well, he got the feeling that no one ever knew what Nikolai was going to say next, but he had turned to Genya. And Wylan suspected she would offer to keep him. He had overheard her talking to David about it—he didn't mean to overhear, but he did. He couldn't let her make that decision without knowing the truth.   
  
In seconds, Wylan had what he had asked for. The others were inside, a sliding glass door between Wylan and Genya, and everyone else. Suddenly Wylan wished he hadn't asked Genya for a private moment. No… he wished he didn't  _ need to _ ask Genya for a private moment.

Genya began, "If you don't want to stay with us—"

"I do," Wylan cut in. "More than anything I do, but… you should know…" 

He looked away, then took a breath and made himself look her in the eyes. His face was already red with humiliation for what he was about to say. 

"I can't read."    
  
Saying the words felt almost like vomiting. They had to be forced out and left him without air. The ground seemed to pitch, each second stretching into a churning eternity. He hoped she wouldn't care. He expected she would say it more kindly than his father used to, but he expected nonetheless she would tell him he needed to leave. 

"What?" Genya asked, shaking her head.

So he made himself say it again, blushing so hotly it hurt and wringing the words from a tense, parched throat: "I can't read. The letters… they… I can't make them go still."

"You're dyslexic?"

"W-what? No, I'm—does it—I'm… gay?"

Wylan still couldn't make himself look at Genya so he couldn't read her expression, but her tone was gentle. "It's fine that you're gay, but dyslexia isn't about orientation. It means you have trouble reading. No one told you this? How? Your teachers must have noticed."

The words didn't pierce, not at first.  _ Dyslexia. _ There was a word for it. If there was a word, it happened to other people. This was real. This wasn't just in his head, it was real, it was real,  _ it was real… _

Genya was looking at him, expectant. Why? Oh, right. She had asked… how. She had asked why no one knew.

Wylan shook his head. "I, I couldn't hide it anymore so he… I worked with tutors, my…my father didn't w-want a record that I… was…" He couldn't. He just couldn't. Wylan's shoulders were jumping and he realized he was crying. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Genya put her arms around him.    
  
He remembered that day in the kitchen, her hand on his shoulder, and tried to remember the last time someone hugged him. Jesper had been tactile at the convention, but usually that was just one arm, or one arm and a cuddle, and as much as Wylan had liked that it wasn't quite the same as just being  _ held _ .   
  
Wylan shivered, tried to fight it. Then he gave up and just cried hard into her shoulder. 


	13. Half a Birthday Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a (non-graphic) discussion of conversion therapy. If you need to skip that but want to continue in the next chapter, there's a summary at the end of the chapter.

JESPER   
  
Jesper had fully intended to pretend he was enjoying his birthday. It mattered to Da. It mattered to Nina. He had promised himself he would smile and tell jokes and do his best not to disappoint the people who loved him. He had been so certain he knew what to expect.   
  
That certainty disappeared the moment Wylan Van Eck stepped through the back door and spilled an armload of ice like the adorable disaster he was. Seeing him made time snap. Seeing him erased the months since the last time they had been together, and there they were under the stars again…   
  
So when he heard Wylan crying, Jesper shifted uncomfortably. Wylan had asked for privacy and Jesper genuinely didn't know how he could help with this, but he hated when people he cared about were hurting. He needed to help, he _needed_ to… but knew he couldn't. He had to respect Wylan's wishes.   
  
Colm set a hand on Jesper's shoulder. Everyone had fallen into an awkward, uncertain silence.   
  
They had moved to Zoya's living room, most everyone scattered over comfortable chairs. Zoya and Nikolai were on the couch, Nikolai scribbling on a notepad. David leaned over Nikolai's shoulder. David was the sort of person who took getting to know, but Jesper liked him now that he knew him. When he said anything, it was direct and honest, and his matter-of-fact nature was surprisingly comforting when Jesper had come back from rehab and learned he would be repeating junior year. Most people turned awkward or said it was all he deserved or got too 'comforting', but David had just said something like,  _ oh, you'll graduate in 2021 _ , which didn't feel relevant but was reassuringly factual.   
  
Jesper cleared his throat. He was sitting on the floor, which he preferred. He never felt like he quite fit in chairs, like they were designed based on someone's idea of what a human might like if that person had only ever met a crash test dummy.    
  
"Is there cake?" he asked Nina. "It's not a birthday without cake."   
  
"It's only half a birthday party," Nina said. There was a perfunctory half-fullness to her tone.    
  
"I'll eat half a cake. Who offered you any?"   
  
"You would eat half a cake without sharing?"   
  
Jesper shrugged. "Why not? It's my birthday."   
  
"That's so mean I'm going to call you Kaz."   
  
"Impractical."   
  
"Then don't be a  _ copy-Kaz _ ."   
  
Jesper laughed.   
  
Wylan and Genya returned a few moments later. Wylan's eyes were red and his cheeks were marked with tear-tracks. Jesper sat up straighter, waiting for an explanation, a reassurance, just for something to bring him back into the situation.   
  
He heard Genya say, softly, "Go ahead."    
  
Wylan settled on the floor beside Jesper, scrubbing his face on his sleeve.   
  
Jesper put an arm around him and pulled him closer. "Are you okay?"   
  
Wylan nodded. "I'm sorry about your birthday."   
  
"Yeah," Jesper said, "it's my eighteenth birthday and all I got was a boyfriend."   
  
"And a t-shirt," Nina added.   
  
Jesper smiled down at the shirt. He had loved it so much he was already wearing it; Nina had special-ordered a t-shirt that said  _ Kiss me I'm Haitian/Irish/Welsh _ .    
  
Colm added, "And socks."   
  
"It's the socks that made it truly special," Jesper said.    
  
Nina brought out strawberry-frosted chocolate cupcakes, though only a third of them had the proper pink color that strawberry frosting ought to have. Half of the others were yellow and half were blue.    
  
"You're the best, Nina."   
  
"I know."   
  
Jesper didn't know what had happened between Wylan and Genya, but Wylan had his head down and his arms folded close. He looked so… different, so much farther away than he had been before. Jesper placed a cupcake in front of him. "Nina makes awesome cupcakes."   
  
Wylan picked up the cupcake, peeled back the wrapper, and took a careful bite. Despite his decidedly prim approach, he wound up with crumbs and frosting on his mouth.   
  
"That's great!"    
  
Nina beamed. "My graduation and my best friend's eighteenth birthday were not going to be celebrated courtesy of the Aldi's bakery. Or mint It's-Its."   
  
"What's an It's-It?" Wylan asked.   
  
"They're ice cream sandwiches with two cookies and they're dipped in chocolate. I happen to like mint It's-Its," Jesper said.   
  
Nina gave him a pitying look. "I know and they're good, but for your birthday?"   
  
"I got everything I want for my birthday."   
  
"It's a nice t-shirt," Wylan offered.   
  
"And you should follow its advice, but that's not what I meant," Jesper said. He actually saw the moment Wylan went from confused to understanding and blushing. "Are you staying?" Jesper blurted. He felt like this was one of those subjects that was supposed to be discussed politely and with discretion, but with Wylan next to him, Jesper couldn't quite conceive of  _ waiting _ to find out if he was here for good. Or at least here for the next year, then presumably he was going to college.   
  
"Nikolai?" Wylan asked.   
  
The adults had been engaged in their own conversation—the proper adults, Jesper thought, since he was 18 and that made him Officially An Adult. Nina didn't count as one, either. Nikolai swallowed a bite of cupcake and asked, "Are you comfortable having this conversation publicly?"   
  
Wylan nodded. "Everyone here is someone Jesper and Genya trust. So I trust them, too."   
  
"All right. Before we begin, everyone here agrees that what we discuss will not leave this room. Wylan's identity will not leave this room. Is that agreed?"  
  
Nikolai looked from one to the next, settling his eyes on everyone in turn until they had all nodded or spoken their agreement.  
  
"Wylan, are you comfortable discussing where you were before?"   
  
After a hesitation, Wylan nodded. Jesper's interest was piqued. What had the past few months been? He had assumed Wylan just went home, went back to DC, forgot about Jesper. Seeing him now, he knew that wasn't true.   
  
"Were you at Love Twice Willed?" Nikolai asked.   
  
Softly, Wylan said, "Yes." He must have been ready to lie, because he sounded far less than ready to answer that question.   
  
It prompted sharp reactions from Jesper and Nina. Jesper pulled Wylan closer like he could somehow protect him, like having him nearby would soothe the punch to the gut Jesper felt just from hearing the name; Wylan reached for Jesper's hand and held on. Zoya made a disapproving noise and Genya put a hand on Wylan's shoulder.   
  
"I'm sorry I outed you earlier," Jesper said, "I didn't know." He hadn't even thought about it. He was used to being around these people and knew they were accepting.   
  
"Where is that?" Colm asked.   
  
"It's where Republicans send their gay kids to be tortured into acting straight," Nina spat. "It's disgusting. It's child abuse."   
  
"No," Nikolai told her mildly, "it isn't, not in Iowa."   
  
"Christ, Nikolai, do you know what they do in those places?" Nina demanded.   
  
Wylan flinched against Jesper.   
  
"Guys," Jesper said.   
  
"That is irrelevant to the legal—"   
  
Nina's face flushed an angry red. "Irrelevant?! It's a moral—"   
  
"It's not—"   
  
"It is! They take innocent kids who did nothing wrong and they—"   
  
"Stop it," David said, in a tone Jesper had never heard him use before. He could almost have a heart attack from seeing it, under different circumstances: mild-mannered David who barely seemed to have a temper had just quieted Nina Zenik. "You're upsetting him."   
  
That was true. As the argument heated, Wylan had sunk deeper into himself. He looked so lost now and in such agony, and just holding him didn't feel like enough for Jesper but he didn't know how to take this away. He wanted to kiss Wylan, not on his mouth but on his cheek, his temple, just somewhere to say, _It's okay, you're safe now._   
  
"You're not going back," he said. "You're not."   
  
Wylan nodded. He had his head down, but Jesper saw the corners of his pained expression. What had that place done to him?   
  
Genya agreed, "Of course not. We won't let that happen." To Nikolai, she asked, "How did you know?"   
  
"The gay son of a prominent Conservative politician turns up here looking desperate with that rather unfortunate haircut," Nikolai began, and Wylan put a self-conscious hand on his head, "just a few months after being publicly outed. He was last seen in Des Moines and his father is a public supporter of conversion therapy. You met him outside Aldi, so he came from the north. It was the likeliest explanation. Do you have any other relatives?" he asked Wylan.   
  
Wylan shook his head. "A grandmother, but she's in a home. My mom…" He looked to Genya, then back to the table as he concluded, "She left."   
  
Jesper had already known that, but it was harder to hear now that he knew about Wylan's father.    
  
"Who leaves an innocent kid with a monster like Jan Van Eck?"   
  
"He's not a monster," Wylan objected.   
  
"Wylan," Jesper said. Jan Van Eck was many things, but most of them full under some subheading of 'monster'.    
  
"He's not!"   
  
"He's a bigot," Nina said. "I know this is your experience and I can't imagine how horrible that place is, but it's nothing me and Jes are ignorant to. He gets all kinds of crap at school. I'm not out. The people who treat you, us, badly for being anything shy of straight as an arrow, they're bigots. There's no argument about it."   
  
Jesper glared at Nina, who looked back with genuine surprise. She didn't know why he was mad.   
  
"He raised me by himself," Wylan said. "He didn't know what else to do—it's just like you said. You get hurt. My father… he's always been afraid I would be, you know, taken advantage of. Since I'm… you know. And because I'm weak. He was trying to protect me."   
  
With all the softness and euphemisms, Jesper couldn't at first piece together what Wylan was saying. When he did, he almost wished he hadn't. Did Wylan really just say that his father told him that because he was gay and (by Jan Van Eck's definition) weak, he would be assaulted?   
  
Nina was less floored, already arguing, "But that's bullshit!  _ You _ have to suffer and  _ you _ have to hide who you are because bullies exist?"   
  
"Nina, enough! That's not what he's saying and you know it and this isn't about principles!" Jesper snapped.   
  
Besides, given what Wylan had been through, Nina's usual strong personality might be too much. Jesper didn't disagree with her on principle. He just didn't want the argument—and he was already annoyed with her.   
  
Colm cleared his throat. "I don't know what it's like to be gay," he began, which was a sentence Jesper never expected to hear from his father. "Or… or a bit gay, whatever else it's called. But I am the only person in this room who knows what it's like to raise a child, begging your pardon, Genya."   
  
Genya nodded.    
  
"The world isn't kind. You can't stop that. You build your child strong enough to face it. There's no excuse for a parent to make their child feel like they're not good enough or not safe at home. None. I've brought up Jesper on my own for a long time. It's no excuse."   
  
Jesper's first thought was— _ but I wasn't good enough _ . He lied, he stole, he used. Then he thought again and realized it never came from Colm. His da was disappointed in him frequently over the past year, but he was always adding something to it, saying things like,  _ I didn't raise you to do this sort of thing. You're better than this. _ He never said Jesper was garbage. Jesper told himself that sometimes, but Colm never did. Colm just said annoying things about loving Jesper and being worried for him.   
  
Jesper kept holding Wylan, but he turned to give his da an appreciative smile.   
  
"But that's easy to say when your son is like Jesper," Wylan said, his quiet voice too loud in an otherwise silent room. "Jesper's strong."   
  
"Oh, kid," Genya said gently. Jesper knew that tone. He heard it himself quite often after rehab, the tone adults used when they worried you would break.   
  
"Wylan," Nikolai said, his tone far more neutral, "how exactly did you come here? You were at the Love Twice Willed campus, they're not known for their weekend excursions."   
  
Jesper had wondered about that, too.   
  
"I, um. I ran?"   
  
"Are you asking me or telling me?" Nikolai asked. "Look at me. Are you asking or telling me that you ran?"   
  
"Telling. I ran," Wylan said.   
  
Nikolai was seated on the couch, across the coffee table from Jesper and Wylan. As Wylan spoke, he squeezed his hands tightly together in his lap, but he looked at Nikolai.   
  
"That's about twenty-five miles, all told. I assume someone followed you."   
  
Wylan nodded.   
  
"I see. So you outran them for twenty-five miles."   
  
"N-no," Wylan admitted.    
  
"What did you do?"   
  
"I jumped."   
  
"You jumped over what?"   
  
"Off—into the river. There was a cliff."   
  
"So you jumped off the cliff."   
  
Wylan nodded, eyes still fixed on Nikolai. He held himself steadier now, meeting the challenge of Nikolai's questions.   
  
"Into the river."   
  
Again he nodded.   
  
"How long were you in the river?"   
  
"I'm not sure," Wylan said. "It felt like a long time. I kept hitting the rocks and going under."   
  
"Wylan, you don't have to do this," Jesper told him. He didn't have to answer Nikolai's questions. Jesper knew Nikolai was a lawyer, the man had a reputation for turning a conversation around, upside down, inside out until it went how he willed it to. Wylan didn't have to engage.   
  
"And you floated here?"   
  
"I followed the tracks. I knew if I followed the train tracks—I hoped I would find a town. I can do this, Jesper."   
  
Yeah, he could, but he shouldn't have to. Again Jesper was struck with the feeling that Wylan was far away from him, was different from the Wylan he had known. He wanted to pull him closer like that was the distance.   
  
"I see," Nikolai concluded. "So you ran away from a secure campus, jump off a cliff, made your way down the river, then walked several miles with no water and an infected injury, do I have this right?"   
  
Wylan nodded.   
  
Nikolai said. "You haven't told me anything that demonstrates a shred of weakness."   
  
The look Wylan gave him could almost be a glare, which Jesper couldn't understand. Nikolai asked him tough questions, but the point he made with them supported Wylan.  
  
"You don't know," Wylan said. "I d…" He looked around the room, then at his knees, shivering. "I did things there. I s… I… a-and the others. I ran away and I left them behind."  
  
"You saved yourself," Nikolai replied. "You escaped from a place designed to imprison you and break you down physically and emotionally. You  _ survived _ . Whatever you did, you had to do it, and you survived. That doesn't make you weak."   
  
"Actually I'm pretty sure that makes you Aragorn in  _ Lord of the Rings _ ," Nina said. "The movie version of  _ Two Towers _ . Okay, so clearly we need to have a movie night. Genya, we can borrow Wylan this summer, right? For cultural reasons?"   
  
A part of Jesper wanted to roll his eyes and say that not seeing _Lord of the Rings_ was hardly the worst. He appreciated Nina too much to do that. Wylan seemed to relax at her trivialities, his spikes retreating.   
  
"As long as Zoya approves," Genya said.   
  
Zoya waved off the concern. "Yes, fine. Look, this one is quiet," she added with a pointed look at Jesper.   
  
"I'm not as loud as Nina," Jesper objected.   
  
Nina gave a delighted gasp. "Jes.  _ Rocky Horror _ ."   
  
He felt his eyes light up at the prospect. "Yes!"    
  
Jesper had never seen  _ The Rocky Horror Picture Show _ until Nina. Then, just a couple of weeks after leaving rehab, he was invited over to Zoya's for movie night. It became a regular thing, Nina and Jesper and '80s classics: _Escape from New York,_ _The Princess Bride, War Games_. _Rocky Horro_ _r_. Nikolai was over that night, and he and Zoya spent most of the evening upstairs; movie night was the usual, Nina, Jesper, and endless snacks. They watched  _ Rocky Horror _ twice, replaying some scenes over and over until Jesper had learned all the words.   
  
Now Zoya laughed. " _ Rocky Horror _ is when I stopped worrying about them sharing a bed."   
  
Colm nearly choked on a mouthful of cupcake.   
  
"It's not how it sounds, Da," Jesper promised with a wince. He hadn't  _ quite _ mentioned where he slept at Zoya's. He had mentioned that the couch folded out, which was true… but that was something not everyone understood about sexuality. Just because they were both pansexual did not mean they had any interest in one another.   
  
"Imagine the gayest thing you can think of and double it, that's these two doing Rocky Horror," Zoya said.   
  
Jesper smiled. "Mm,  _ two _ Wylans."   
  
Wylan elbowed him, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.   
  
Still, Jesper wouldn't argue with her summary of their Rocky Horror party. It had been… exuberant. Their spirited rendition of 'Time Warp' included sunglasses, hairbrush microphones, and a feather boa. Jesper personally felt he absolutely killed it on 'Hot Patootie, Bless My Soul' (with backup vocals attempted by Nina) but it had been 'Time Warp' that really started the party, Jesper and Nina searching her closet for the most fun, most colorful, most glittering outfits they could cobble together. It had been the first sober fun Jesper had in a long time.   
  
The rest of the evening passed far more lightly. They were all able to laugh again and it felt much more like a party. Jesper dragged Wylan and Nina up to her bedroom to watch clips of The Late Show, continuing Wylan's comedy education.

"Hey," Genya said, halting them on their way toward some much-needed hilarity. "I'm glad you're here."

Wylan gave her a strong but watery smile. "Thanks, Genya."

Nina's bedroom had been a guest room before she arrived. It was still a bit guest-like, with nondescript furniture, but had personal touches to make it distinctly Nina's. Those were Nina's clothes on the floor and Jesper knew which tins contained snacks. Her laptop was covered with bumper stickers. Jesper opened it. Just like his agreement with Colm, Nina kept her phone and computer non-password-protected; she had given Jesper permission to use it enough individual times for him to consider it a standing invitation.

They crowded on the bed to watch videos, Nina providing the occasional commentary, Wylan sometimes blushing at a particularly rude joke.  
  
After a while, when Nina had left the room for a minute, Wylan asked, "Are you sure you still want me? I'm not pretty anymore."   
  
Jesper didn't know what to say. He remembered that night in the hotel, their one true date, not a 'hangout as friends' but time together as boyfriends. Wylan hadn't been sure what Jesper saw in him then, either. After what he had been through…   
  
"I still think you're gorgeous. And that wasn't everything. You're still you. Still the same sweet, curious Wylan."   
  
When Nina returned, they had shifted even closer and each put an arm around the other. Wylan flinched, but Nina just asked, "You guys want some privacy?"   
  
Wylan shook his head. "It's your bedroom, Nina."   
  
"I don't mind."   
  
"It's okay," Jesper told her. He had the feeling Wylan wasn't ready to be alone with him for any extended period. Whatever that place had done to him, Jesper would go as slow as Wylan needed. "We were gonna watch the video from May 2nd."   
  
Nina didn't understand at first. Then she remembered the segment, grinned, and flopped down beside Jesper.   
  
An hour had passed before they knew it and Zoya shouted for the three of them to come downstairs. The party was wrapping up. Wylan squeezed Jesper's hands and promised to see him before long.   
  
Too much had happened for Jesper to know quite what to say when it was just him and Colm in the car. He had a boyfriend… again. This time he would have a boyfriend for more than five minutes, and his da had already met him.   
  
"Thanks for the socks."   
  
"Can't go wrong with socks," Colm said.    
  
"Da, did you like Wylan?"   
  
For a few very long seconds, Colm was quiet. Then he said, "What that boy's been through…"   
  
Jesper nodded. He couldn't imagine, and he was genuinely touched that Colm had no idea what Love Twice Willed was. If he had researched it, he would have found the nearest place to straighten out a kid. Right?   
  
"But he broke your heart, Jesper."   
  
No, Jesper had already decided Wylan didn't do that. Jan Van Eck did. Maybe he made Wylan be part of his plan, but Wylan didn't break up with Jesper.    
  
Sure that wouldn't be a winning argument with Colm, Jesper instead said, "When we were together, without his father, Wylan never did anything to hurt me."   
  
"I just don't want you to get hurt."   
  
"Wylan wouldn't hurt me. I know what I'm getting into now."   
  
Colm didn't take his eyes off the road. "You didn't tell me you were being bullied."   
  
Yeah, and it would have been great if Nina hadn't mentioned that.   
  
Jesper shrugged. "It's not that bad."   
  
Colm considered that for a moment. Maybe he heard the lie in Jesper's voice, maybe he just wanted to believe it, but he said, "All right. All right, then. Happy birthday, Jes."

_ Summary: Genya and Wylan join the others in Zoya’s living room. Nina brings out cupcakes she made for Jesper’s birthday. Jesper asks whether Wylan will stay; once he has Wylan’s permission to discuss the matter and everyone’s agreement not to repeat what’s said, Nikolai reveals that he knows Wylan ran away from conversion therapy. Wylan makes excuses for his father’s behavior (there are none, of course, this is reprehensible) and although Jesper and Nina argue, ultimate it’s Colm who makes the strongest point that Jan Van Eck’s behavior was not that of a loving parent. After Wylan shares a bare-bones story of how he arrived, Nina compares this to Aragorn in The Two Towers and decides a movie night is desperately needed. Jesper, Wylan, and Nina watch comedy shows until the boys have to head home. _


	14. Little Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: miscarriages, medically necessary abortion, hysterectomy (summary included halfway through; the second half is lighter content)

WYLAN

  
  
Wylan woke with sunlight spilling over his face. The light and the heat told him before he even opened his eyes that he was here on the couch in Genya and David's living room. It told him he was safe. Maybe, one day, Wylan wouldn't wake up happy just because he was safe, but today he did. Today, and tomorrow, and the day before, he woke up happy. He was bone-weary after last night, but not unhappy.   
  
When they came home from the party, Genya has asked if Wylan wanted to talk about anything. His mind had been racing and he wanted her to stay with him, but he couldn't think of any one thing to say, so he had shaken his head and said he was tired.

Now he folded his blanket and set it over one arm of the couch. A few days after Wylan arrived, Genya had taken him to Goodwill for some clothes. He had never owned a pair of second-hand jeans before, or worn boxers purchased in three-packs at Walgreens. They weren't complaints on his part. They were simply a difference from the way things were before.

Wylan padded to the bathroom to change. He was brushing his teeth when he heard something from the next room. He tilted his head, listening, then quickly rinsed his mouth.

In the time he had been here, Wylan had learned to avoid the fourth door in the hallway. He didn't go into Genya and David's bedroom, but he knew where it was. There was the bathroom, the linen closet—and the last room, the one they just didn't talk about. The door was ajar now. From the room came soft sobs.

Wylan pushed the door open farther.

Genya stood in the middle of the room, a knit blanket held to her face and tears on her cheeks. There wasn't much there: a fresh-looking coat of yellow paint on the walls, a round rug with a fox on it, a crib. Oh. Wylan understood now—the basics, and the fact that he had intruded on a private moment. He swallowed. Probably he should leave her alone, right? Genya would want to be alone with this. Except, that was his embarrassment, wasn't it? That was his sense that he was blundering in, while Wylan knew perfectly well how it felt to cry alone. He knew how it felt to be held, too, but…

He touched Genya's elbow lightly.

The thing was, the factor pushing his decision, he was already part of this. He had been since the moment Genya brought him home. This was what David meant about him not being a replacement. This was the significant look Nikolai had given her at Jesper's birthday. 

Genya lowered the blanket and brushed a tear off her face. "Wylan," she said, and he realized it was the first time she had used his name. "Let's go outside."

They sat together on the front step, Genya still holding that soft blanket. Wylan couldn't get the image of the immaculate nursery out of his head. It looked so peaceful, so horribly at odds with Genya's pain. The bright sunshine only compounded the sense of harsh juxtaposition, of so much pleasantness and so much heartbreak.

After a moment, Wylan said, "I don't mind the couch."

"We're not keeping you here as a pet," Genya said. 

Wylan didn't actually want to sleep on the couch, either, but it seemed unchivalrous not to offer.

"If you have a baby, it'll need a nursery."

"I won't," Genya snapped.

Surprised, Wylan looked away. He hadn't put his shoes on yet and pressed his toes to the concrete.

"I can't," she amended. There was pride and strength in her voice, but raw pain, too. Wylan heard it and felt for Genya, but he didn't understand her pain. He just knew he couldn't begin to understand the depth of it. "David and I tried for years. I miscarried twice. And then… I thought we had it. I was pregnant for 22 weeks. A boy. I wanted to call him Eli, but getting David to agree on a name was always going to be impossible. I could feel him moving…"   
  
He wasn't sure if he ought to give her space, but when Genya rested her hand almost tentatively against her belly, like it might still be bruised, he put a hand on her shoulder. That was what Jesper would do—well, Jesper would probably put an arm around her and make her feel safe and cared for. But Wylan could at least tell her he was here. She gave him a tight, unhappy smile.   
  
"A fetus is viable at 24 weeks. My water broke at 22 weeks and even though I was pregnant for another ten days, I don't count that. The hospital expected a miscarriage, I should have miscarried, but when I didn't, they sent me home. Over the next ten days I was bleeding, I would go in and be told that it was still possible for my baby to survive. They kept using that word. My baby. He was a fetus. He was attached to me. Ultimately he… he died, they couldn't detect a heartbeat anymore so they agreed to remove him, but by then I had an infection. I had an evacuation of my uterus and a hysterectomy. The procedures were necessary to save my life."

Everything she said was more clinical and detached than her usual speech. Wylan heard the pain she was holding at bay. Again he understood that he didn't understand, that he couldn't fathom what Genya had been through.

Her hands worked the blanket, stroked it like a kitten as she explained these things.

"Not everyone understands David, you know. He's not a demonstrative man, he's very reserved, but he was next to me every second. He was there when I woke up after the surgery. When I—you don't need to hear this," she interrupted herself. "I hope you never know the pain of mourning your child. He was real to me. I could feel him moving inside me. He died before I got to hold him, I could feel him not moving anymore, he was inside me not… I don't know, maybe I would have tried to carry him to term anyway, maybe we wouldn't have tried again, but if the hospital treated my medical needs instead of focusing on the chance of the baby surviving, I might have been able to try again. Later we learned it's a Catholic hospital and they will not provide any abortion services, regardless of the danger to the woman. I have never felt as small as I did when a doctor told me he had to protect his patient, that my son had been his patient. Like I didn't matter. He said it like I wouldn't have done anything I could to protect my own child. David's still furious. It's hard for him to talk about."

That did surprise Wylan. David didn't seem to have a hard time talking about anything. He struggled to find the words sometimes, but no subject seemed difficult.    
  
"I know. It takes a while to really get him. You should understand, David… David is angry about a lot of things. He's angry with the hospital. He's angry with the laws that make its actions okay. That's why he was hesitant about you. He never disliked you. He didn't want to see me get hurt again. He lost his son, too, but he… he grieves in his own way. It's very private for him."

"Not for you?" he asked.

Genya gave him a sad smile. "I have to talk about it, Wylan. If I don't, I'll be buried under the shame that my husband has an incomplete woman for his wife."

"But that's not your fault," Wylan objected. "It's obviously the hospital's fault. And you're not an incomplete woman!"

"Who talks about women's healthcare?" she asked. "Have you ever heard a woman talk about her abortion?"

"Well…" Before this morning, no. 

Genya nodded. "That's right. They talk about motherhood. I need to talk about it because if I let other people tell my story, then I become ruined. A woman who can never be a mother. Does it matter whose fault it is?"

Wylan had largely been kept away from the abortion debate. Partly, he realized now, it was because he was wholly unprepared for it. He felt stupid, but he always thought abortions were unsafe, never considered that a medical condition might be the unsafe thing that required an abortion. He had been to a fundraiser once with his father and now remembered an idiotic thing he had said, because when asked what he thought, Wylan, then twelve, had remarked,  _ I guess some women don't want to be moms anymore. Like my mom didn't. _

More of Wylan's life was available online than was ideal, but he hoped that clip, at least, never made it to Genya.

"You're not ruined," he said, softly, hoping it helped.

"No," she agreed, "I am not ruined. And I've kept the nursery long enough."

Wylan wanted to ask if Genya would be his mother. She still wanted to be someone's mother, right? And he wanted someone to be his. He was too nervous to ask. Wylan having a mother had not thus far been a story with a happy ending. Besides, she didn't want a mostly-grown teenager, she wanted a baby. He understood that he couldn't give her what she wanted.

"Genya?" he asked. "You'd be a really good mom."

She gave him a smile that broke his heart.   


  
_ (Summary: The morning after Jesper's birthday party, Wylan finds Genya crying. She's in a previously unexplored room that is clearly a nursery. Genya shares with Wylan that she had miscarried several times when, after an almost-successful pregnancy, her water broke and the local hospital refused to provide necessary medical treatment because the fetus still had a heartbeat. This led to Genya developing an infection for which she had no choice but to have a hysterectomy. She explains that David was supportive of her throughout and that he grieved for their son, too; if he seemed cold to Wylan, that may have been the reason. She resolves to clean out the nursery.) _

* * *

JESPER

"Can we stop by Genya and David's place on the way back?"

"Give them some time, Jes."

That was completely fair and decent advice. That didn't mean Jesper had to like it.

He slumped, letting his head rest on the car window. He wasn't entirely clear on what was wrong with the harvester, but he hadn't put up too much of a sulk about three hours in the car. It was only 90 minutes, really. 90 minutes twice.

Jesper thought about texting Wylan, then remembered Wylan didn't have a phone. He could text Nina, but his thoughts were less on her than on his boyfriend. It was probably rude to text a friend randomly about your boyfriend, right?

"What did you think when I told you I was gay?" Jesper asked.

Whatever 12-year-old Jesper had expected from his father, it wasn't the reaction he received. He had come out in mid-October, giddy because he had driven the combine harvester an entire length of the field without his da once having to correct something, and after he stopped Colm told him he'd done a grand job. Jesper meant to say something about how he could've told you that. What came out was,  _ Da, d'you know what gay is? What if I'm gay? _

Jesper's understanding of his own sexuality was a long time developing. At first, he thought he was precisely that, gay, because at the time he had a massive crush on Pete Turner. Pete was the quintessential farmboy right down to the overalls. He was the cool kid in class, ran faster than anyone else in the seventh grade and always had a pack of gum in his pocket, alternating between Juicy Fruit and cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. And he'd once given Principal Van Houden the finger. Behind her back, but still. Jesper was convinced Van Houden just became a principal to torment kids. At the time, he couldn't imagine ever having feelings for anyone else. He fell asleep thinking about kissing Pete Turner, the bubble gum taste of his lips.

Luckily Jesper never acted on that obsession. Near the end of last semester, Pete, who went by Peter now and was appropriately a massive tool, hooked his foot around Jesper's ankle and hissed a word that made Jesper wonder if it had been Peter who spray-painted his locker back in April.

"I didn't think anything," Colm said. "Maybe that you were too young to be sure."

Jesper had to ask if his da knew what the word meant. Colm had replied by telling him yes he did and that was all right then and should they aim for one more row done before the sun went down.

"But you never thought about sending me away? Getting me straightened out?"

Colm glanced over at him just briefly. That's how shocking a question it was: it made Colm Fahey take his eyes off the road. He had to know why Jesper was asking. Jesper had known about the conversion center for years, but never before met anyone who had actually been inside that place. They were secretive and Jesper's opinion was a mix of rumor and scandal from similar places.

Colm replied, finally, "I didn't know what to say about it. About you being gay."

What kind of answer was that?

"But did you think about sending me to one of those places?" Even though he had definitely never looked for one, Jesper hadn't been able to get the idea out of his head.

"No. I never thought there was anything wrong with it. Just didn't know what I was supposed to do. I looked it up."

That was news.

"You looked it up?"

Colm nodded. "How to raise a gay son. I looked it up."   
  
"You just… Googled 'gay websites'?"   
  
"That's exactly what I did, in fact. It took some looking around but I found a forum."   
  
Jesper couldn't help it: he blushed. He had done a fair bit of searching himself but looking for  _ very _ different websites, and couldn't stop his embarrassment thinking of what Colm must have encountered.    
  
"Da, please tell me you didn't post on a forum for the gay community."   
  
"Of course I did."   
  
He buried his face in his hands.   
  
"The parents talked about how to handle it, how to… how to cope. I wanted to know what was best for you; it wasn't about me. So I found a forum and I explained our situation, that it was just the two of us and we lived in a rural community, there weren't any others that I knew of living nearby who were—"   
  
Jesper looked up from his hands, an incident from his past suddenly making much more sense. "Wait, is this why you offered to take me to Cedar Rapids for a PFLAG meeting?"    
  
That had not come at Jesper's request. Colm had shown him a printout about a group meeting, and although Jesper knew what PFLAG was, hearing about it from his da, complete with research materials, had been almost as awkward as… well, anything else that happened when he was 12. Now that he thought about it, that had been really considerate of Colm. Jesper had been too self-conscious to appreciate it at the time.   
  
"It is. Apparently, according to the very friendly online gays, the most important thing was to show you that I loved you and accepted you. I don't know if I did that. Jesper, you're a lot of ways I don't understand. You're like your ma. I looked up a fair few things."

He looked at his da, then watched the monotonous landscape through the window as he thought about that. It never occurred to him that his da had gone looking for resources. How different would his life have been if Da clicked a different link, were persuaded by a different website? He wondered how he decided which site to trust.

"Is that a bad thing, me being like her?"

"Never in a million years, lad. Your ma was brilliant the way you are. She had a big heart, like you do, and a special kind of light inside her. She wasn't, ah… she didn't fit with everyone else, but that's only because there was no one else like her. Not until we found you in the vegetable patch."

That wasn't how Jesper saw himself. He saw a former screw-up who was piecing himself together and maybe sometimes doing a passable job of it. He didn't know why Colm and Wylan saw him so differently to how he saw himself. Inexplicably, hearing his da talk about him and about his ma that way brought a lump to Jesper's throat. He looked away again.

After a while, he half-muttered into the window, "You're a good father." 

There were a lot of things Jesper wished were different, but he had never wished his father were anything or anyone else but what he was.

For the next fifteen minutes, they sat together with that knowledge—consideration of what Jesper had been as a son, what Colm had been as his da. They were passing houses now, a bit of not-quite-urban sprawl giving them something to look at. Jesper had been here times enough growing up that he didn't pay much attention to the turns they took, not until Da pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot and announced, "We're here."

Jesper shook his head, bringing himself back to awareness. "We are? What the—you said there was a problem with the harvester!"

Colm grinned. "I lied."

Jesper scrambled out of the car. He would have bolted right inside, had his da not called to him to wait, so Jesper waited, bouncing on the soles of his feet and tapping his thighs impatiently. Wait?! How was he supposed to wait?!

"You see now why I didn't say anything before."

"Ye-e-e-es," Jesper reluctantly agreed. "Da, come on!"

Colm laughed. "It's good to see you like this."

The humane society kennel smelled faintly of wet dog and strongly of cleaning products. It had dozens of dogs, most of them starting to bark as soon as they heard or smelled a human. Jesper couldn't help it: his heart was racing and he was grinning hugely. Gates rattled as the dogs jumped up at them. 

"You can only have one," Colm said, "you just remember that."

Jesper nodded. Right. Only one. Understood.

He knew the moment he saw his dog. Oh, Jesper tried to be reasonable. He tried to be logical, narrow it down, keep in mind he didn't want a little thing—not that he had anything against pit bulls, but he wanted a big dog. But he just knew, same as he just knew the others weren't quite for him.

Jesper knelt in front of the dog's cage. The dog yipped excitedly and tossed his—her?—paws against the gate.

"Hey, dog."

_ Hey, Rhodri _ . He didn't say it, but he was sure thinking it.

The paper clipped to the kennel said he was an approximately-4-year-old collie mix, though Jesper thought that was awfully heavy on the 'mix'. He had short, dark fur, with a white patch on his chest and belly and tan marks on his face. The collie was more apparent in the shape of his face, long and narrow. He got his paws leveraged right against the gate and stayed there, tail wagging. 

"This one," Jesper said, looking up at Colm. 

To Jesper's disappointment, they did not take the dog home that day. He had to have his last shots and be neutered, which would take a few days. They did get to play with him, though; the shelter had a yard set aside for just that purpose. Jesper tossed a ball and soon-to-be-Rhodri brought it back to him, exactly the way a dog ought to—Jesper had always known that, but there was something magical in seeing it happen.

"Good dog." Another thing he had presumed but that felt different in real life. Jesper found himself genuinely meaning the words. "Good, good dog."

Behind him, the humane society employee commented to Colm, "I can see we won't have to worry about him going to a loving home."


	15. Starting Slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story: I thought this chapter would be short.

JESPER

  
Jesper thought it was deeply unfair that he needed to wait to invite Wylan over, and he needed to wait for Rhodri to come home! It made him antsy for almost three whole days. Even with a job in town (boring) and work around the farm (also boring), Jesper found plenty of time to think about his recently returned boyfriend. He could have stopped by Genya and David’s without telling his da—he knew Genya was a tailor and there was only one tailor in town, it wasn’t exactly tough to Google—but he knew Da would worry if he came home late.

The third day, as he slipped tins of tomatoes onto the shelves, taking agonizingly dull care with the labels, Jesper heard footsteps approach. He didn’t turn. Even when someone shoved him, he didn’t acknowledge it, furious as it made him. 

“Hey, Fahey, we need your help.”

Jesper didn’t want to, but he turned to face some of the boys from his school. “How can I help you?” he asked, knowing he was meant to.

There were three of them, all guys he knew. He used to be on pretty good terms with two of them. He knew they were homophobic, but they didn’t know he liked guys at the time, so they weredecent to him. That had stopped after TMZ and the Vice President had anything to say about him.

“We’re looking for some Popsicles. You’d know where to find something to suck on, right?” one of the guys asked. The others guffawed. 

Jerks.

“Aisle 3,” Jesper supplied, “in the freezer.”

“Cool, cool.” The saddest part was that they weren’t even clever enough to realize that would have been a lame joke. They weren’t trying to tell a joke. “So how about, like, wieners?”

They weren’t really going there, were they?

“I heard you liked wieners.”

Damn. They had gone there. He wasn’t angry about the dumb joke but the intent behind it, the fact they were only here to tell him, to remind him, that to them he was lesser. Jesper gripped the object in his hand tightly—a tin of tomatoes. He was about to shelve it when they approached. Now he was thinking about hurling it. Or just… punching it into one of their stupid faces. Or—

“Jesper!” Nina slid up beside him and put an arm around his waist. The red film over his vision faded just slightly. “Got a minute?”

“I always have time for you.”

“Great!” she chirped. She turned to the other boys and made shooing motions. “Run along.” 

“Uh… look, Zenik—”

“Run along,” she repeated, more slowly this time.

They traded glances, then, with one last parting barb, scuttled away.

“Ugh, I’m sorry about them,” she said, “you okay?”

Jesper shrugged. “Fine.”

“’Kay, but I’ll ask Nikolai to drop by sometimes, make sure your boss knows he’s your friend.”

Jesper nodded. He knew he should appreciate it; he appreciated the point Nina was making. The best protection Jesper could have wasn’t the law, but people knowing the law would be enforced. They weren’t going to fire an employee for his sexuality if that employee was friends with Nikolai Lantsov. He wanted to be glad for it. Instead, he was just… numb.

“Listen, in about ten minutes I’m going to mess up and buy two ice creams on accident, wanna stick around and help me eat one?”

“I’ll ask.”

“Cool. See you outside in ten.”

“He might say no,” Jesper reminded Nina. Colm was far more comfortable with Jesper and Nina’s friendship, but he still had his uncertainty.

Ten minutes later, though, with his father’s approval, Jesper accepted an ice cream from Nina and thanked her as he opened the wrapper.

“So how are you doing?” Nina asked.

“Good. I’m good. Kaz stopped by.”

“Did he apologize for being a complete jerkwad and missing your birthday party?”

“No,” Jesper admitted, “but did you expect him to?” 

Kaz wasn’t overly fond of situations in which there were adults—the type that felt inclined towards any supervisory impulses, anyway. But he had showed up at Jesper’s work with a poorly wrapped gift and the closest Kaz Brekker ever managed to a sheepish look—wolfish in sheepish clothing, anyway—and Jesper forgave him.

He shrugged and continued, “We’re going to pick up Rhodri and bring him home tomorrow. Me and Da are. I want to invite Wylan over. Bet he’d like Rhodri.” Jesper had told Nina about the dog multiple times. He regarded his cone for a moment, then said, “He likes ice cream.”

“Have you talked to him yet?”

Jesper hesitated. He and Nina sat on the back of his truck. Relentless as she had initially been about the flatbed (apparently it was “the most farm thing I’ve ever seen”), even Nina had to admit it was a nice place to hang out. She swung her feet idly.

“What am I gonna say?” he asked. He had thought about this a fair deal and asked the question softly, leaning just a bit closer.

“‘Hey, Wylan, do you want to go out with someone fun and hilarious and totally sexy’?” Nina suggested.

Jesper laughed. The weirdest thing was that a few months ago, he might’ve done just that.

“But this is Wylan, I’ve got to get it right.”

Nina considered that as she licked her ice cream. The heat was brutal this evening. Jesper felt it in the sweat trickling down his neck.

“Isn’t it easier with him?” she asked. “You already know he likes you.”

“I already lost him once,” Jesper said. 

Hard as it was to admit, losing Wylan had broken him. It wasn’t being outed; he could have taken that, could have taken the bullying at school, even what the VP said about him. With Wylan, Jesper had been happy. He had looked forward to their time together, spent his time thinking about what they could do together. For a few days, he got to be a queer guy with a sweet boyfriend in a major city. There had been so much potential in those days and there had been Wylan’s pretty smile and his shy, twitchy fingers. 

Jesper could have handled all of it if he could have kept his boyfriend, because he and Wylan just fit together. He had never before had a boyfriend. As long as he lived here, if Wylan changed his mind, Jesper would never have another boyfriend. And how was he supposed to move?

“Jes.”

“He liked me when he had his dad around. You saw how Genya was! When Wylan realizes how great he is, why’s he going to bother with someone like me? He’s so smart and talented. He’ll…”

Nina nudged his arm. “What happened to your cute, gay marshmallow?” she asked. “Come on, I saw how Genya was, but I saw how Wylan was, too. He couldn’t get enough of you. Want to cut out the negative self-talk?”

Jesper sighed. No, he did not want to cut out the negative self-talk.

“Jesper,” Nina said, putting on an affected voice, “remember, sometimes we become so accustomed to our negative self-talk, we’re afraid to let it go.”

Jesper couldn’t help laughing. “You’re so right, Dr. Matthews.”

The shrink had been hard to take seriously. They never doubted that she was genuine, she was just so… well, genuine! You couldn’t talk so seriously about important things. Nina and Jesper had once been asked to sit apart from one another and spent the entire time making faces when she wasn’t looking. Nina managed to disguise her laughter as a coughing fit, but Jesper was more amused and less subtle.

“Okay, practical question, though,” he said. “What do I do with him? Not like that!” he was quick to add, knowing Nina’s sense of humor. “Just… we can’t go out. I can’t hold his hand in public, I can’t—I won’t put him through this.” It was one thing for guys to tease Jesper and call him names. He didn’t like it, but he knew the problem was with them, that they were just assholes. Wylan…

 _He was trying to protect me._

Wylan wouldn’t understand. 

“Ask if you can have a date at Genya’s,” Nina suggested. She knew Genya better than Jesper did; he liked Genya, everyone liked Genya, but he didn’t know her especially well. Because of Genya and Zoya’s friendship, Nina was practically Genya’s family. So Jesper believed Nina when she said, “She’s super romantic, she’ll be on board. Or bring him out to the farm.”

“No way,” Jesper said, “I’m not having a date with my da supervising.”

Nina looked at her swinging feet for a moment—or possibly at her boots. Jesper had once told Nina he wasn’t _that kind of queer_ , and she had laughed and said that she knew because _those kinds of queers don’t wear plaid flannel_. But even he knew her shoe collection was impressive. Today’s pair was the impractical red boots with the cross-buckles. No heel, so Jesper was still taller.

“Jes, maybe… you don’t have to start with a date. Everything doesn’t have to be a date with your boyfriend, me and Audrey just hung out a lot. And from what you’ve said, that should’ve been a sign that things weren’t going so hot with you and Lily? Don’t stress about being with him, just be with him.”

Nina’s speech had given Jesper time to demolish most of his ice cream. Shameless creature that she was, Nina licked the melted mess off her fingers.

“Lily thinks she turned me.”

Nina raised her eyebrows. “Turned you?”

Jesper nodded. “She thinks I like dudes ‘cause she kisses wrong or something.”

“Hey, hold this and don’t eat it,” Nina said. 

She handed her ice cream to Jesper, then dramatically fell back on the none-too-clean bed of his truck, laughing and swinging her feet hysterically. He rolled his eyes and bit off a piece of his cone to get at more ice cream inside.

When Nina was done, she sat up, gave herself a shake, and retrieved her snack from Jesper.

“Now,” she said. “A, that’s hilarious. B, props, you really didn’t eat my ice cream. You’re a quality friend, my dude.”

Jesper just shook his head. He didn’t think people really spoke that way, she did it either because she thought it was funny or to mess with his head. He didn’t believe her, so the latter was a bust.

“So does she or what?”

“Huh?”

“Lily. Does she kiss wrong?”

Jesper laughed and punched her shoulder.

* * *

WYLAN

  
Jesper had invited him over on Friday, but much as he wanted to go, Wylan knew he couldn’t. He had a prior engagement making challah with Genya. Gnawing his thumb, he had waited to hear if Jesper wanted to hang out sometime that weekend instead.

“Sunday,” Jesper had suggested. “We can pick you up after church.”

So that Sunday found Wylan fidgeting, tugging at his clothes to make sure they settled as best they could, running a hand over the worst acne patches on his face like they would have smoothed down somehow in the past half hour. Jesper said he didn’t care that Wylan wasn’t pretty anymore, but that didn’t mean Wylan wasn’t making an effort! It’s just, how did one make an effort with a shirt that didn’t tuck into his pants, and jeans that just sort of hung, and hair too short to comb? There was nothing tidiable, just… just Wylan.

“You look fine,” Genya told him, for what must have been the twelfth time. “You look adorable.”

“I don’t want to be adorable,” Wylan objected. 

Puppies were adorable.

Teddy bears were adorable.

Wylan looked—well, Wylan aspired to look—wanted to look gorgeous, because that was what Jesper wanted from him. And because every time Jesper said it, there was a moment where Wylan genuinely believed he looked that way and he felt… good. The problem was, he just wasn’t. Jesper was gorgeous, Jesper was outright stunning. Wylan looked like dishwater became a person.

“You look good,” she amended. 

Wylan tried once more to straighten his t-shirt.

“This is the sort of thing Jesper wears all the time.”

“But Jesper’s… Jesper,” Wylan explained, “he could wear a potato sack and he’d still turn heads.” 

He had never actually seen a potato sack, but he had heard the expression from his father and got the idea. Jesper could wear absolutely anything. His clothes just seemed to conform to his body and, well, not that Wylan had been looking at, thinking about Jesper’s body but hypothetically if he had been, he might have noticed it was absolutely perfect.

Genya wrapped her arm around Wylan’s shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. He loved when she did that. 

“He thinks the same about you.”

Jesper did not think the same about him.

There was a knock at the door and Wylan nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Do you want to answer it?” Genya asked. 

He both did and did not, but concluded there was nothing else he could actually do about his appearance. He took a breath, gave Genya a shaky smile, and went to answer the door. 

Seeing Jesper again knocked the breath out of him. It wasn’t quite as startling as when he had first seen Jesper at Zoya’s, this time Wylan expected Jesper to be there, but he was still a little surprised and a lot breathless. Not just Jesper but Jesper with his eyes on Wylan, Jesper looking at Wylan with a smile slowly parting his lips, Jesper glowing in the sunlight. Wylan wasn’t just breathless, he had forgotten how to breathe.

“Hey,” Jesper said.

“Y-you’re here! I mean—hey,” Wylan said, chuckling, as much as he could chuckle without air.

“I was just thinking the same,” Jesper said. He tilted his head just slightly and he had that smile and…

“Hi, Jesper,” Genya said, saving Wylan from possibly passing out. Could he get any lamer than passing out just because a boy showed up? Though, to be fair, this wasn’t just any boy. This was Jesper, this was…

“Hi, Genya. How are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’m good.”

“I’ll pick up Wylan around five, so you two have most of the afternoon together.”

Jesper nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Plenty of time.” The look he gave Wylan sent a bolt of heat straight to areas best not considered with third parties present.

Genya cleared her throat. “Jesper…”

“No impropriety!” Jesper promised. “Da’s going to be there the entire time. Couldn’t be improper if I wanted to.”

Jesper’s da drove the sort of car-truck-hybrid-thing that Wylan expected to see on a commercial that he felt uncomfortable watching with his father present.

“Good morning, Mister Fahey,” Wylan said, slipping into the back seat. 

“Morning, Wylan. It’s good to see you again.”

Jesper crashed into the seat beside Wylan and immediately started unbuttoning his shirt. “Can’t believe you made me put this on again,” he said. Wylan tried not to stare as Jesper shrugged out of his shirt. He was still mostly covered with an undershirt, though Wylan couldn’t help noticing that Jesper had very nice arms. He looked… he looked strong. Wylan had seen Jesper in his swimsuit, but he hadn’t quite scraped together the courage to really look.

Now he swallowed and turned away, rubbing his wrist. 

“I can’t believe you kept it on,” Colm retorted. “Jesper, at least fold your shirt.”

“I was gonna,” Jesper replied, haphazardly “folding” the shirt. Watching him mangle the shirt stirred up an uncomfortable feeling for Wylan.

“I’ll do it.”

He took the shirt and, carefully in the moving car, folded it up tidily.

Jesper raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you know how to do chores?” he teased.

“I learned at… sorry,” Wylan muttered, seeing that Jesper had realized where he learned.

Jesper reached over and squeezed his hand. “Hey,” he said, almost gently, “guess what.”

“What?”

“No, you have to guess! You have until we get to the farm though.”

“Um… I dunno,” Wylan said. He wanted to guess that Jesper was happy to see him, but that seemed a little too self-centered, plus Jesper could flirt from it. Knowing Jesper, his father’s presence wouldn’t stop him from flirting.

“Guess.”

“Jesper,” his da said.

Jesper sighed. “It’s something I told you about before.”

Wylan thought for a moment. “You’re going to run track next year?”

“I told you about track?” Jesper asked. “No, those guys are jerks, I don’t want to hang around them. Hey, are you going to school with me next year?” he wondered.

School?

“I… I’m not sure,” Wylan admitted. Genya already knew he couldn’t learn to read. He was almost seventeen and whatever it took to graduate high school, Wylan didn’t have it. They didn’t just give out diplomas to idiots who couldn’t manage what a first grader could do. 

“That would be awesome,” Jesper said. 

Wylan made himself nod, even though it would very much not be awesome. His mind raced—he was pretty helpful to Genya in her shop, with tidying up and sometimes cutting pieces for her. What else could he do? If he could do more, maybe something at home, he could show that he was useful enough to keep around. 

“…and, obviously, getting to see me every day,” Jesper concluded. Wylan hadn’t heard most of what he said; he was busy trying to figure a way to stay out of school. “Wylan?”

“Sorry, yes, you’re right,” Wylan agreed.

He didn’t know what he had said wrong, just saw the hurt registering on Jesper’s face.

Wylan looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Is it that stuff I told you before?” Jesper asked. “Or what Nina said? School can suck, but it’s not awful. I mean, a lot of the teachers are pretty cool. I’ve never met Miss Anderson because she only teaches art, but everyone says she’s nice.”

Art class did sound nice. Wylan just wished he knew what he had done wrong, because Jesper didn’t sound like himself. He sounded… careful. But if he asked, Wylan would have to admit why he was distracted. He was so stupid. They hadn’t even been together for ten minutes—Wylan missed his father. Sure, Jan would never have allowed this, but wasn’t he always there when Wylan said something like that? He had always swooped in to clean up the mess.

“Jesper,” Colm said, “didn’t you say your school has an art club?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been. I think Kevin’s sister was in it? She graduated, though, she’s at, um… damn. I don’t know, I don’t really talk to Kevin anymore.”

“What about Nina?”

“Nina’s not really into the whole… joining… thing,” Jesper explained. “At least that’s what Nina said, if there had been an ‘80s movies club she would have joined.”

“I’m surprised there’s not a baking club.”

“Oh, there is. Nina just doesn’t admit she likes to bake.”

At first, Wylan hadn’t realized what Colm was doing. He knew now: Colm was giving Wylan time to compose himself, letting him rejoin the conversation when he was ready like his father would. 

When they reached the Faheys’ farm, Wylan barely registered the barking—at least until a big, shaggy dog loped around the side of the house. Wylan grinned, remembering how Jesper had said he wanted a dog.

“Is that Rhodri?”

Jesper grinned back. “That’s Rhodri.”

The car had barely stopped before Jesper leapt out. The dog whuffed happily and pushed his nose at Jesper while Jesper scratched his ears.

“Hi, Rhodri! Good boy! Wanna meet my boyfriend? Yeah you do. Of course you do.”

About the same second Wylan’s feet hit the ground, Rhodri danced over to him, around him, sniffing and yipping at him. Wylan liked the idea of playing with a dog. He just wasn’t sure how to… do that. He grinned at Rhodri, but Rhodri kept moving and Wylan wasn’t sure how to start petting him.

“You can pet him,” Jesper said.

Wylan nodded. Okay, good, now it seemed like he had been waiting for permission! Rhodri stopped moving and looked up at him, expectant. “Hi,” Wylan said, tentatively stroking Rhodri’s head. Rhodri licked his hand and bounded off to demand attention from Colm. 

“He’s just what you wanted!” Wylan said, remembering how Jesper had described his ideal pet.

“He’s perfect,” Jesper said. “Just like you.”

Wylan blushed.

He followed Jesper and Colm inside, Rhodri alternately bounding in front of them and pushing at someone’s hand for attention. His endless energy definitely made him the ideal dog for Jesper!

As his eyes adjusted, Wylan noticed that nothing in the Faheys’ home matched. They had an olive drab couch with one of its cushions patched, an inexplicably floral arm chair. 

“Jesper,” Colm said, “go and get changed, please.”

Jesper gave Wylan a halfway apologetic look and promised, “I’ll be right back—Rhodri, keep him company.”

Wylan couldn’t help watching Jesper, trying to take a peek into his bedroom, but the angle was not in Wylan’s favor. It wasn’t lost on him that he was now alone with Jesper’s father. He was pretty sure that had been the intention. Tempted as he was to stay awkwardly in the middle of the mismatched living room, Wylan followed Colm into the kitchen.

“You’re welcome here,” Colm said, taking a container out of the fridge, “but if you want to go home, I can take you back to David’s. You looked a little uncomfortable.”

Wylan gnawed his thumb. He didn’t want to seem insulting, but he didn’t know how to explain what had happened without telling the truth.

“I was thinking,” he explained. “I didn’t hear what Jesper said—I didn’t mean to.”

Colm smiled. “My son is the last person who ought to mind someone getting distracted. He likes you. You don’t need to be perfect, not for him or anyone else.”

Wylan wasn’t sure what to say about that, so he nodded and waited for Colm to tell him what to do—should he help set the table? Run glasses of water? Just stay out of the way?

“Now, I should warn you, Jesper’s made diri kole and he will be judging you on whether or not you like it. His ma was Haitian.”

“Jesper told me,” Wylan said.

“Oh, did he? He must be serious about you.”

From his bedroom, Jesper shouted, “I know you’re talking about me!”

Wylan blushed, but Colm called back, “And what else would we talk about, lad?”

Lunch went passably well, Wylan thought. He only had a couple of awkward moments. Both times, Colm kept Jesper in conversation until Wylan was ready to join them again. If Jesper really had been judging Wylan on whether or not he ate the rice and beans on his plate, then it was a test Wylan passed.

Most of the afternoon, the boys played with Rhodri. Wylan breathed easier as they did; it was hard to get “toss the ball so Rhodri will chase it” wrong. He didn’t do exceptionally well when Jesper suggested they toss the ball to each other, but there were no stakes, so his mistakes were okay. It was Wylan’s first time really playing with a dog—he had been around dogs before, of course, but dogs in his father’s social circles were either very small or very well trained. Not Rhodri. He was just… Rhodri!

It was Wylan’s first time drinking out of a hose, too, but Jesper did it without hesitation, so Wylan copied him. 

“Wylan’s never had an up-close view of a corn field before,” Jesper told his father, “so I’m going to show him around.”

Colm gave Jesper a knowing look. “Are you, now.”

Jesper nodded.

“Enjoy your tour, Wylan. Jes, it’s already after four.”

“Got it—a quick tour,” Jesper promised, grabbing Wylan’s elbow and tugging him toward the corn stalks. They weren’t nearly tall enough to afford the boys any semblance of privacy—unless their shoes were up to no good—but this was still the closest to alone they had been all day.

Wylan wondered if it was okay to hold Jesper’s hand now. Nobody would see them, right? Except Colm, and Colm seemed to approve of their relationship.

Was holding hands lame?

“Why do you do that?” Jesper asked.

“What?”

“You brush your wrist, like this.”

“Oh.” Wylan looked at his feet. He shrugged. “I didn’t realize I was doing it. They, um… w-where I was before… I had…”

He felt the water closing over his head again, a cold shock, air knocked out of his lungs. He shook his head to get rid of memories. Words he couldn’t read, words he never wanted to hear again. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Jesper said.

Wylan wanted to. Didn’t want to. Wanted… to hold Jesper’s hand? To… 

“I’m sorry I’m like this, Jesper.”

It was hard to know but undeniably true that if they lived somewhere else, somewhere with more people like them, Jesper wouldn’t be with Wylan. He deserved better than Wylan, than a mess like him.

“It’s not your fault.”

Wylan didn’t think it was his fault, not really. He knew being gay wasn’t a choice and he knew his reading problem wasn’t a failing, but he was still a mess and stupid. It was Jesper’s bad luck that the only non-straight boy in a hundred miles was like this. 

He tried to think of something, anything to say and he couldn’t. His tongue felt clumsy against his teeth.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jesper said. “Just—I don’t know! I don’t blame you for being upset about where you were. If you want to talk about it, you can, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Which was about the most frustrating thing he could have said! Wylan would have preferred if Jesper told him to just forget about that place. Or even to talk about it. Or to hop on one foot for the next half hour, just something he wanted! And Jesper sounded so unsure. If he had been Jesper, Wylan would have put his arm around the other boy’s shoulders and made it all okay. He wasn’t, though. 

He still wanted to hold Jesper’s hand. How weird was it that despite this all, Wylan wanted to hold Jesper’s hand?

He licked at his lips nervously, and said, “I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t talk about it. I don’t know how, and even if I did, I don’t want to go back there.”

Jesper took Wylan’s hand. They wandered the corn field quietly for a while. It was better, Wylan thought, than a stilted conversation. As many small disasters as they had shared today, they could end it well, enjoying one another’s company.

Much to his shame, Wylan was relieved when he and Jesper headed back and he spotted Genya. She was chatting with Colm, but waved when she saw Wylan and Jesper approaching. Wylan waved back.

They said their goodbyes, everyone smiling and promising to see each other soon, and Wylan kept up that smile until he was in the car. Then he pressed his forehead to the window, looking out at the nothing passing by and letting himself frown out at the world. What was he? Jesper was the person Wylan pinned so many hopes on, the one person who had really liked him, with whom Wylan had been himself. Now he couldn’t even be around Jesper. He didn’t know how to talk to anyone.

“Did you have fun?” Genya asked.

Fun…

“Yes,” Wylan said, which wasn’t a lie. “We played with Jesper’s dog.” That part had been fun.

He wanted to cry, a hot, sore feeling behind his eyes. Wylan touched his wrist again. 

“Rhodri,” she said. “He seems friendly.”

“He’s perfect for Jesper.”

“Mm. Colm mentioned you had some difficulties.”

Wylan turned to face Genya. She knew about that?! Not good, not good… what should he do? He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t tell her Colm had lied—been wrong?

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He swallowed. “I can do better,” he promised. “Just give me one more chance.” Were they here already? How many times had he made this promise, meant it, broken it?

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Genya said, “I need to know what’s happening so I can help you.”

Wylan thought about the first time he had frozen. It was when Jesper mentioned school.

“I was thinking about ways I could contribute more,” he explained. “Other things I can do—there must be more chores to help with. Around the shop, I mean. Or at home. I’m good at chemistry. Maybe I could help David with—I don’t know, but—there must be something?”

“You contribute more than enough,” Genya said. “What happened today?”

Wylan gnawed his thumb. Much as he hated lying, sometimes telling the truth was almost as bad. There was no way out, though: he told her everything. Even if it made her get rid of him, she deserved to know—it wasn’t nearly fair either that she should keep him thinking he was somehow different to what he was. So he explained. He told her that, sometimes, he blurted something stupid when he didn’t know what to say, that he didn’t mean it but he was an embarrassment. He was just… like this.

* * *

JESPER

NINA  
Wdym ‘disaster’?

JESPER  
He hates me.  
:’(

NINA  
Does not, saw you together. Not true.

Jesper glanced at his bedroom door. He was sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, relying on Nina’s wisdom to deal with the events of the day. The light under the door told him Da was still awake, so as much as Jesper wanted to just call Nina, he had to settle for texting. It was hard to explain this over text, though.

It was hard to explain how Wylan kept pulling away from him, how he could simultaneously be in the room and a million miles away.

“Least I got you, right?” he asked Rhodri.

The dog raised his head, then yawned hugely and settled his chin on Jesper’s knee. Jesper took the hint. He could text with one hand, pet Rhodri with the other.

JESPER  
It’s like he goes into a trance or something. I think he apologized like 17 times. Why can’t he just BE with me? He used to be cool with me.

NINA  
Dude.  
He was TORTURED.  
We legit know 0 of the details.   
We both know the “love will fix you” myth = just that, myth.  
Going to need time + support.

Jesper sighed and shook his head. He knew that, but it didn’t help! A pop-up announced a call from an unknown number; he ignored it. He needed to keep trying to figure this out.

Both Jesper and Nina had sat through enough therapy to know it was hard work. They knew it wasn’t enough for someone to love them. Colm had always loved Jesper, and Jesper still used enough illegal drugs to kill a buffalo. Zoya had always loved Nina, and it didn’t keep her sober either. 

Couldn’t he be Wylan’s support, though? Jesper would do that. He knew better than most how important it was to feel like someone cared about you no matter what.

JESPER  
:(  
:’(  
He doesn’t have to be perfect for me.  
I just want him to WANT me.

NINA  
Ok, Cheap Trick.

JESPER  
Nina I like him

NINA  
<3  
Sorry, J. I know.   
Let me think, get back to you tomorrow?

JESPER  
k. Night.

NINA  
Night loser.

JESPER  
Bitch.

NINA  
Love you, farm boy.

JESPER  
You too.

He sighed again. This wasn’t how it felt with Wylan the first time, and Jesper had known things would be different… he just thought ‘different’ would mean ‘better’. He thought he would be texting Wylan. Okay, Wylan didn’t currently have a phone, but he thought… he didn’t know what he thought.

He thought he would feel better.

“Relationships are complicated, Rhodri.”

Rhodri didn’t answer. 

“Yeah, yours aren’t,” Jesper retorted, “lucky thing!”

He pulled up the message from his unknown caller and played it.

_“Hi, Jesper. Thank you for inviting me over today.”_

Wylan’s voice should not have stirred this mix of emotions, and suddenly Jesper was ready to kick himself for not answering the phone earlier. And he was happy Wylan had called. And he was scared, because that was how Wylan liked to start a break-up call.

Well, maybe not liked to, but it was how he did last time.

_“I enjoyed meeting Rhodri and spending time with your dad. The thing is, um… I…”_

Jesper tensed. _Don’t,_ he urged Wylan. _Not again._

_“Well, I talked to Genya and—um, Genya thinks that—if it’s okay, can we meet here next time? I’ll explain it in person, I promise. I ju—I d—I’d really like to see you again. Maybe we can watch a shark movie. Okay bye!”_

Well. That… certainly happened.

Jesper considered for a moment, then called back. It wasn’t that late and Wylan had only called him twenty minutes earlier.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Jesper calling, is Wylan available?” Let it never be said that Colm and Aditi failed to teach their son manners; he had known how to start a phone call since he was a child.

“Hey, Jesper. Hang on. Wylan, Jesper’s on the phone!”

She had covered the phone, but he heard the call, anyway, just like he heard the muffled exchange that followed:

“Did he say what he wants?”

“Just asked to talk to you.”

“Do you think he’s mad about today?”

“No. Talk to him.”

A pause, then Wylan said, “Hi, Jesper.”

“Hey, gorgeous. Oh, shit, is this on speakerphone?”

Wylan laughed weakly. “No, it’s not.”

Jesper heard Genya say, “Hey,” and Wylan reply, softly, “Okay,” but he didn’t know what she had just indicated, not until a few seconds had passed and Wylan said, “Okay, I’m in my room now.”

“I thought you were sleeping on the couch.”

“Not anymore. I was.”

“So you have a real bed now?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I come over, help you break it in?”

Wylan responded with a strangled noise that made Jesper grin. A lot had changed, but Wylan’s flusterability was reassuringly intact.

 _Perfect_ , Jesper mouthed at Rhodri, who squirmed onto his back. He wriggled for a moment, then gave Jesper a look. He could almost swear the dog thought he was being subtle.

“Oh, you are so obvious,” he murmured, shifting to scratch Rhodri’s belly.

“I-I am?”

Jesper laughed. “Well, I was talking to the dog, but you’re not over-burdened in the subtlety department, either. So how much distance do you need? Can I come over after work tomorrow? I’m off at noon.”

“Let me ask.” A pause, then, muffled, “Is it okay if Jesper comes over tomorrow? Okay. Jesper?”

“I’m here.”

“See you tomorrow?”

Jesper whooped, realized what he had done, and decided he didn’t care. “Yeah, can’t wait!”


	16. A Looming Shadow

WYLAN

  
Genya let him pick the color they would paint his room and Wylan chose eggshell. Genya made him pick again. Wylan had gnawed his thumb and asked for blue. She had just looked at him until he admitted he had always wanted to paint the night sky on his wall. 

He wasn’t finished yet.

The walls were mostly blue-gray, pale so his mural would really pop. The mural itself was currently pencil marks on his wall, but he liked it already. He laid on his side in bed, looking at the sketched-in map he had made for himself. It didn’t look like much, but he saw ahead to what it was going to be.

“Are you getting up?” Genya called. 

“Yes!” Wylan called back.

He hadn’t been, but pushed himself upright. Now he was getting up.

Yesterday should have been a good day. He saw his boyfriend for only the second time in three months, got to spend hours with Jesper without being afraid of his father finding them. So why had Wylan spent the day anxious? Why had he ended up with the sense he had ruined everything?

Wylan still carried hints of the bruises he had borne the day he arrived. They were fading, but visible. His hand was no longer bandaged, though the shiny pink mark lingered. His feet were the worst. He could walk around well enough, but replaced a few band-aids every time he showered. Maybe it made him a coward, like his heart told him. Maybe it made him strong, like Nikolai said. But one thing his flight from Love Twice Willed undeniably made Wylan was a physical wreck.

Yesterday, he had explained to Genya that he said stupid things, that sometimes he just didn’t know what to say.

“I know he did less than great things,” he acknowledged, “but my father protected me. He knew what I was, how to stop me when I was about to embarrass him.”

He was going to embarrass Genya and David now, Wylan knew he was, but rather than being angry with him for concealing it, Genya had asked Wylan when he said things he deemed embarrassing. He explained. He told her how clumsy his words could be when he talked to reporters and his father’s colleagues, how he should know what to say but he just didn’t. His father was right. He was empty-headed, sometimes without a single word.

“That sounds like anxiety,” Genya told him. “It happens to a lot of people, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. Is there anyone you have an easier time talking to?”

“Well. You. And one of the Secret Service agents I knew, but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because,” Wylan had explained, “I know if I say something stupid, either of you would forgive me.”

Ultimately, Genya had said something that Wylan wished he could deny: Wylan hadn’t had a private conversation in years. Everyone he interacted with had either been paid by his father or speaking to him in his father’s presence. Every conversation occurred within his father’s reach and thus under his father’s expectations.

She had asked him something he wasn’t ready for: “Did your father hit you?”

Wylan didn’t want to lie, but telling the truth felt like a betrayal. He stayed silent as long as he could—but he wasn’t going to ignore her.

“Only when he had to,” he had admitted, blistering with shame, “or when he was really stressed.”

“No wonder you were anxious if every interaction happened under those circumstances. You’ve never been allowed to be yourself.”

Genya also said that Wylan’s father never “had” to hit him. Wylan didn’t argue, because he didn’t want to tell her about the things he did. It started getting really bad after he brought up his old memorization techniques. He hadn’t meant to be deceitful. He just thought… maybe he could learn enough to make his father think he was really reading, and then things would get better. His father would be happy with him. Obviously, if he had thought it through, Wylan would have known he couldn’t sustain that, but he had still been a kid and he just wanted to make his father happy…

The memory made him shiver. 

There had been three reasons Genya suggested Wylan and Jesper ought to meet up here at her place. First, it was more familiar for Wylan and she hoped that would help him be calm. Second, they could have some privacy. Third, if anything happened, she was right down the driveway. 

Wylan spent the morning in Genya’s shop, promising himself everything would be fine and doing simple chores after he knocked over three boxes and she banned him from touching anything sharp or hot. His insides were a nauseous mix of hope and worry as he worked, eagerness to see Jesper and fear that Jesper would change his mind after yesterday’s disaster. What if he did? What if he didn’t?! Did it mean anything if he still turned up? Of course it did, of course it meant something, but it didn’t mean everything and—

“Breathe, kiddo,” Genya said as the door opened. “Hi, Jesper! Wylan’s in the back.”

“Saving the best goods for a special customer, huh?” Jesper asked. A moment later he peered into the back of the shop, grinning hugely. “Hey again.”

“Hi.”

And just like that, Wylan forgot to feel… anything else. Jesper was here. Jesper, with his shining eyes and his beautiful smile and his deep, soothing voice…

Realizing he had been staring silently for much too long, Wylan stammered, “Um, I, uh—hi,” he said. Then he blushed. “I already said that.”

“You did already say that,” Jesper agreed.

Wylan nodded.

“But I liked how you said it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You could say it again if you want.”

The words came out almost a whisper: “Hi, Jesper.”

“Hi, gorgeous.”

Wylan looked away, shaking his head. He wasn’t gorgeous. He still looked… he remembered the image he saw in the gas station mirror—a sun-burned, exhausted, desperate boy in dirty clothes, a drowned rat with bathed whiskers.

“Hey.” In seconds Jesper was beside him, arms closing around Wylan. “I know what kind of guys you like. You like ‘em tall, dark, and handsome, you little classicist, you. But I like a guy I can hold, ideally brilliant, creative, with a dazzling smile… just like you.”

Any negative thoughts Wylan might have wanted to have melted away. He was overwhelmed with the warm, safe feeling he had, of being so close he could hear Jesper’s heart, of… was that cologne? Yeah, that was definitely cologne. 

Wylan squeezed Jesper’s arm. “You are tall, dark, and handsome,” he agreed. “And perfect.”

“And you are brilliant and creative with a dazzling smile. We were made for each other.” After a moment’s quiet, he added, “So you going to show me your room?”

Wylan hesitated. “It’s… it’s kind of a work in progress.”

“Oh, never mind then, I only date boys who are perfectly settled within five minutes of arriving in a new place. It saves so much time…”

Under other circumstances, that would have bothered him, but Jesper had his arms around Wylan and delivered the line while giving him a delightful squeeze that Wylan happily would have melted into, and he couldn’t remember why he would ever mind anything Jesper said.

The shop’s bell jingled and the boys broke apart. “Let’s go,” Jesper murmured, and Wylan nodded. In the house, they could do as much hugging as they liked. They could watch a movie and Jesper could hold Wylan through the scary parts…

As they left, they exchanged pleasantries with Genya’s customer. The woman did not wait quite long enough to ask, “Have you heard what they’re saying about the Fahey boy?”

“He’s a kid, Marie,” Genya replied as the door closed. 

Jesper shook his head. “She’s an adult,” he said. “An adult.”

“I’m sorry, Jes. She shouldn’t have said that. Hey… I like your cologne.”

“Are you sure I’m wearing cologne? Maybe I just smell like this.”

“No, I know how y—” Wylan began. He cut himself off, but not quickly enough. 

“You know how I smell?”

Wylan refused to answer that. Jesper bumped his arm against Wylan’s, so Wylan bumped back. They laughed and mercifully let the subject drop.

“My bedroom’s back here,” Wylan said, showing Jesper down the hall and into the blue-gray room. He truly didn’t have much, and what he had came from thrift stores: a bit of clothing, an old bed frame that squeaked if he moved too much. He wished he didn’t, but Wylan felt… embarrassed by his bedroom. It didn’t feel complete.

Before long, they settled into a familiar routine, sitting together on the couch in front of a movie. Even Wylan had heard of Godzilla, even if he hadn’t seen this particular movie. He zoned out fairly quickly. There were subtitles; he hated subtitled movies. Instead, he focused on Jesper. He was so… Wylan’s wasn’t sure. He felt right next to Jesper, with Jesper’s arms around him… Wylan only felt halfway guilty that he wasn’t listening to Jesper’s words, because he was certainly attentive to Jesper’s voice.

Wylan’s eyes drifted shut.

“Wylan. Wylan!”

“What?” he asked blearily.

“Gotta wake up,” Jesper said, rubbing just below Wylan’s shoulder. He didn’t have much in the way of a chest, but given the tingle that sent through him, Jesper was more than welcome to all of it.

Then he realized:

“I fell asleep!” Wylan cried, startling forward.

Jesper laughed. “I noticed,” he said.

“Oh, no. I didn’t… like…”

“Drool and fart on me?”

Wylan groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be! It was cute.”

He refused to acknowledge that ridiculous comment.

“Okay, not necessarily that, but overall. Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Wylan whined softly.

Jesper put an arm around his shoulders. “I promise it was cute. You were really cuddly, and you said my name. Twice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jesper confirmed. “Okay, I have to pee like _right now_ but I’ll be back.”

It was intensely unromantic, but Wylan could hardly fault Jesper for a call of nature. He used the time alone to take a few deep breaths and push away as much of his blush as he could. He tidied up their discarded shoes and socks. He touched his wrist, caught himself, and resettled the cushions on the couch.

When Jesper returned, he asked, “Would you draw Rhodri for me? It doesn’t have to be Rhodri, just something. Would you draw something for me?”

“Okay,” Wylan agreed, surprised by the request. He retrieved some paper from the printer—he would have wondered who kept a printer, but he had met David Kostyk—and a pencil. “It won’t be great,” he added. “It’s just a normal pencil and… it won’t be great.”

Jesper nodded. “That’s fine,” he said.

They sat at the kitchen table and Wylan began to sketch the pup. The hardest thing would be making Rhodri look energetic. When he had drawn Jesper, Wylan tended to favor drawing him in repose. Maybe that was why his pictures tended to lack something essentially Jesper, but there were so many perfect details about him. The shape of his mouth, the fullness of his eyelashes, the way his left ear was just a little higher than the right… but that wasn’t the case with Rhodri. Still, Wylan didn’t have to choose so complicated a position, but it was how he first saw Rhodri in his mind.

As Wylan sketched, Jesper asked, “So… why did you want to meet me here?”

“Oh, um. Genya thinks I’m anxious, she thought I would be… calmer, that I could be more focused… on… you.” The final three words emerged increasingly faint as Wylan realized what he was about to say and that he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “I… Jesper…” Wylan chewed his lip and focused on his drawing. “Jesper, please don’t think I’m a loser for what I’m about to say.”

“I would never think you’re a loser.”

The resulting pause was too long to be comfortable, but Wylan wasn’t sure how to say it. Words were so… difficult. They got into knots. 

“Genya thinks I’ve never been allowed to be myself, she thinks my father was overbearing.” He had overheard Genya saying that to David. Overbearing. He couldn’t look it up, but as Wylan understood, ‘overbearing’ looked like a shadow looming heavy over someone. 

Wylan was drawing Rhodri turning to catch a ball, a sort of bend-curve at his middle. It was a complicated shape because he wanted his drawing to communicate that this was a healthy and normal dog, not a hurt dog. He hadn’t decided yet if the ball would be in Rhodri’s mouth. It would definitely be in the picture, though. This was a picture of a dog playing catch.

“My father was… I… he h-has high standards,” Wylan explained. “I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t… want to embarrass you.”

“You don’t disappoint me. You don’t embarrass me.”

Wylan made soft marks on the page, Rhodri’s furry belly and legs taking shape. 

_I haven’t embarrassed you yet,_ he thought.

“Would you like me if I was stupid?”

“You’re not stupid.”

“If I was,” he insisted.

“Wy, you’re not stupid. You wouldn’t be you if you were stupid.”

Wylan thought for a moment. He didn’t want to tell Jesper—couldn’t tell Jesper. It gave him an uncomfortable, too-warm feeling.

“Genya thought I might be better in control of my anxiety here, and if anything happens, she’s nearby. I’m sorry I’m like this, but I am, I—I’m sorry. I really want to be the guy you deserve.” 

And he did. For all his flaws, more than anything, Wylan wanted to be good enough for Jesper; he wanted Jesper to be happy with him. Jesper had been the first true happiness in his life, the thought that kept Wylan going. He was so bright, and so wonderful, so funny and full of life. Wylan wanted to see Jesper smile forever. He wanted to give him reasons to smile.

After a few moments, Jesper asked, “You do know that I like you, right?”

Wylan shrugged. His picture was coming along well now. He was pleased with the angle of Rhodri’s back; it looked playful, not hurting. 

“Wylan, I like you.”

Wylan paused, not moving for a moment, then he put down his pencil and looked Jesper in the eye as he asked, “Would you like me if you had choices?”

“Yes! You would still be you! I know he told you that you’re dumb, but you’re not. You’re smart and interesting, and you see so much potential in the world. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you like astronomy so much because you think the world is so good you can’t get enough of it?”

Wylan didn’t realize how long he had been quiet until he caught himself twisting his fingers around his pencil, because—no. He had never considered that. He just liked the stars. He liked to think about what might be out there. 

“No,” he admitted softly, “I never considered that.”

“Oh. And you’re gorgeous.”

Wylan blushed. “M-maybe when my hair grows back and…” Without meaning to, he touched his cheek, a patch of acne under his eye. When that cleared up. When he had his curls again. He was already gaining back the weight he had lost—Genya made sure of that—but his body could use definition, some actual musculature instead of being a skeleton with padding and skin. 

Even with that, though, it was a bit of a stretch to call him gorgeous. 

“No,” Jesper said. “Right here, right now, you’re gorgeous.”

Wylan shook his head, looking away.

“Well you’re gorgeous to me. And I like being with you. I mean, honestly, do you know what it was like for me to walk into Zoya’s yard on my birthday and see you standing there? I thought I had gone crazy. There was no way you were really there. I just wanted so badly to see you again…”

Well… no. Wylan had honestly never thought about that. He knew Jesper was surprised to see him, but it had never occurred to him that Jesper might have been waiting, hoping for him. 

“You… did?”

Jesper nodded.

 _I can’t read._ The words bubbled up inside Wylan and he clenched his jaw tight against them. Genya had been willing to overlook it, but Genya was an exception, not the rule. Years of conditioning kept Wylan’s mouth shut tight. 

Instead, he said, “I don't think I'll have this picture right by today. Can I give it to you later?”

“I can wait for perfection,” Jesper said.

Wylan nodded.

“I waited for you, didn't I?”

Wylan froze, going pink.

* * *

The following day, with Colm and Genya’s approval, Jesper once again stopped by after work. Wylan greeted him with, “I like how surprising you are. I know I told you it was partly that you don’t care what people think, you’re just you, but who you are is different and smart and insightful. You think quickly and you surprise me. You have such wonderful enthusiasm for life. And you, um, you’re… you’re…” Powering through a blush hot enough Wylan could swear he was starting to sweat, he forced the words: “You’re amazing. I mean, you look amazing. And you’re amazing.”

Jesper just raised his eyebrows.

“Well, you told me yesterday why you liked me. So… these are some things I like about you.”

Jesper grinned bright as the sun.

* * *

That Saturday morning, while David was on an errand, Genya read Wylan the menu for the only pizzeria in town. Wylan nodded, committing it to memory. He wanted to be as prepared as possible—though he intended to just follow Jesper’s lead, since Jesper had been to this place before, Wylan thought he needed to know what the menu said. Just in case.

“Got it?” Genya asked.

Wylan nodded. “I think so.” At least, he knew enough… Jesper wouldn’t quiz him. 

They were due to meet up soon. Wylan had been run through the instructions multiple times—though and Jesper were going on a date, it wasn’t to look like a date. They wouldn’t dress up any fancier than on the average day, would not sit side-by-side, would not hold hands or hug or kiss. 

“What do you think he wants?” Wylan asked. Usually he wished he knew what Jesper wanted, what everyone wanted but especially Jesper. He wanted Jesper to like him more than he wanted almost anyone else to like him. It made him anxious.

“Mm, I don’t know that Jesper’s had a job before. He’s got money in his pocket and he wants to spend some of it on you. I could be wrong, but if he offers to pay for you, let him. If he doesn’t, don’t read anything into that.”

He nodded again. She had given him money so he was prepared to pay for himself.

“I’ll see you later, Wylan.”

He nodded again. Wylan was doing a lot of that today, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to tell her that he was nervous about leaving the house alone. She must have known, though, because she hugged him tightly as he went on his way.

“If anything makes you uncomfortable, you can come home,” she added. “Just come home. Jesper will understand.”

Wylan believed it, but he didn’t want to be the sort of person who required understanding. He wanted to be a true part of things. Normally it would both him more, but—home. She called it home.

As he walked to the pizzeria, carefully recalling the directions through a town in which he had spent precious little time alone, Wylan tried to think of something he could do for Jesper. If Genya was right and Jesper just wanted to do something nice for him, Wylan was well past overdue returning the favor. Jesper had a knack for this boyfriend stuff; Wylan was still figuring it out. 

It didn’t help that they were acting like un-boyfriends in public. Just friends, Jesper said. It broke Wylan’s heart, a little, to hear the pain in Jesper’s voice—he knew this un-boyfriends business was about protecting him, but it meant Jesper was hurting. Wylan promised hiself that he would make another attempt at the sketch of Rhodri tonight; it wasn’t quite where he wanted it, not yet.

Thinking about Jesper was unfortunately not enough for Wylan to overlook the signs in some of the windows. _Keep America Great._ The signs reminded him why he was hiding who he was, in many ways.

Wylan pushed open the door to the pizzeria but he didn’t need to look for Jesper—he was already waving. He was, Wylan noted, dressed casually. Of course, he looked amazing in his shorts and t-shirt. It confirmed that Wylan wasn’t under-dressed, though, and his boyfriend’s cheerful, beaming face pushed away Wylan’s broader worries. He was here now with Jesper. That was what mattered. 

They weren’t quite alone. The place was mostly empty, but there was a college-aged girl at another table, tapping away on her laptop, and the woman behind the counter. The place was mostly empty, though, and the television in the corner had the volume low. They would have enough quiet to hold a conversation.

“Hey,” Wylan said, sliding into a seat opposite Jesper. He had chosen a table in the corner.

“You found it,” Jesper remarked.

Remembering their first meeting, Wylan said, “Of course, Jasper.”

Jesper laughed. The sound warmed Wylan through—that laugh was just for him.

“So glad you could make it, Waylon,” Jesper said. Wylan laughed. “The pizza’s pretty good here—definitely better than, uh, what you’re used to. I was thinking we could share a pizza. Is that cool?”

Remembering Jesper’s father at the birthday party half-apologetically explaining that Jesper was always hungry—Jesper in the hotel, always reaching for a snack—Wylan nodded. “Sure,” he agreed. “You pick. I like anything except—”

“Pineapple,” they said together, laughing.

“Nice, I’ll be right back.”

Jesper went to order at the counter, and Wylan thought this was going pretty well so far.

When he returned, setting paper napkins and two cups on the table, Jesper asked, “How’s it going at Genya’s?”

“Good! She said she would teach me how to make a quilt if I want.” It wasn’t something Wylan ever thought to want, but watching Genya at it, hearing how much she loved what she did, Wylan found himself drawn to a sewing machine like never before. 

“Oh, cool,” Jesper said.

Wylan felt himself glowing. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“Have you talked to David?”

Wylan shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He still hadn’t spent any time alone with David. This was in part because David worked away from home, but it was partly because Wylan didn’t want to. He knew it wasn’t fair. He knew David had never been harsh or unfair with him… but he couldn’t help it. 

“David…” Wylan tried. He shrugged.

He had spent time alone with Jesper’s father and a few moments with Nikolai at Jesper’s birthday party, but David was different. 

Sympathetic, Jesper agreed, “He takes getting to know, but he’s a good guy, I promise.”

It wasn't about that, but Wylan didn't know how to explain, so he agreed, “I know. How’s working?”

“It sucks!” Jesper said a little too loudly, and laughed, utterly unapologetic. “It’s not as bad as school but it sucks! I can now 100% confirm that there are no exciting secrets in the back of the market. There’s only inventory.”

“Inventory can be exciting.”

“It’s not.”

“It could be,” Wylan said, nudging Jesper to cheer up. “It could! What if it was inventory of… of…”

“Edible lube?” Jesper suggested, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Wylan knew that was an outrageous suggestion. The problem was, he didn’t know what it meant. Oh, he knew what “edible” was, and judging from Jesper’s expression, he was pretty sure “lube” was something naughty, but…

“Oh my god,” Jesper realized, already starting to laugh. “You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“Shut up!”

Jesper reached across the table to ruffle Wylan’s hair; Wylan knocked his hand away, laughing and blushing.

“Bet you look it up at home.”

“Bet I don’t!” Wylan said.

“Really? You bet? How much?”

Wylan rolled his eyes. “On something entirely within my own control? I’ll take your money.”

It reminded him of their first meeting, and he smiled at the memory of Jesper trying to get a look inside his sketchbook. Eventually Jesper had won that time… but no way was Wylan looking up—whatever that thing was.

“Whatever,” Jesper said. 

Something crossed his face, a look of… displeasure? Anger? Something that was there and gone, but not before Wylan noticed. He turned and winced when he saw his father and the President on TV. Just seeing them made him feel so small under a looming shadow. Wylan glanced at Jesper, touched his wrist, looked away.

Jesper cleared his throat. “We should get drinks, come on.”

Wylan followed Jesper to the soda fountain. He knew how to use one of these things and recognized the images, so he didn’t need to guess what the drinks were, and it gave him a practical activity to bring his mind back to the present. Back to his present, with his non-Van-Eck life.

“Do you know the worm trick?” Jesper asked.

Wylan shook his head. 

“Seriously?!” Jesper tore open his straw wrapper and pushed it into a crinkled mess at the bottom, then slipped the plastic straw out and popped it in his drink. With his thumb over the top of the straw, he pulled it out again and let a drop of soda fall onto the crinkled paper. “Ta-da!” he proclaimed. “A writhing worm!”

Wylan laughed. “Cool,” he agreed, “that capillary action is pulling water into the folds and forcing the paper to expand.”

Jesper rolled his eyes. “Nerd.”

Wylan removed most of the straw wrapper and blew the end at Jesper, who laughed, balled it up and tossed it back at Wylan. He tried to knock it away, but he was too slow. 

Suddenly things were easy between the two again. It wasn’t long before the pizza was brought to their table. Jesper promised it was better by a million than what they had in Des Moines, and he was so right. The cheese was meltier, the sauce tastier, and crust crispier on the bottom and chewier at the sides. It wasn’t the first real pizza Wylan had ever eaten, but it was definitely the best he had in a long time.

Even better, though, he was sharing it with Jesper.

Jesper walked him home after lunch. They took the long route—so Wylan could “get a proper tour of the town”, Jesper explained. The only complaint Wylan had was that said tour did not involve Jesper’s hand in his or Jesper’s arm across his shoulders. They didn’t dare touch. Wylan contented himself with sneaking glances when he thought Jesper was distracted enough not to notice, thinking about Jesper’s arms holding him when they watched a scary movie, the way his lips tugged up in a smile… kissing said lips. 

He would really like to kiss Jesper’s lips. He wanted to kiss Jesper’s hands, too, and— 

And other things that he wasn’t ready for but still felt pulled toward like those thoughts were a magnet and his body was riddled with metal shavings.

All too soon, they were standing in front of the tailor’s shop. Jesper was working that afternoon. Wylan invited him in, but he had to run. Still they spent one last, long moment just together, looking at each other, and Wylan felt the promise of everything they might one day have with each other, every fear he hadn’t remembered because how could things be bad when he was with Jesper.

It wasn’t half sufficient, but all Wylan could say was, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Jesper replied.


	17. Free Throws and Ice Cream

WYLAN

The sun beat down hard, bouncing off the pavement almost blindingly. Wylan's sneakers squeaked against a quick pivot; he didn't even touch the ball, but was still ridiculously proud of that sound. Jesper and Nina had gone out of their way to include him in nearly everything. Where basketball was concerned, though, Wylan made a proud effort while the others battered an old rivalry. Wylan reached for the ball, but it was already moving up Zoya's driveway, Nina racing for the basket. She shot. For a split second everything seemed frozen, the ball arcing toward the basket, the pride on Nina's face as she realized it was headed for the net…

Jesper leapt in and knocked it out of the way.

"Asshole!" Nina spat. They talked that way during basketball.

Wylan caught the ball, but made no effort to reach the basket. His fine motor skills were exceptional, his drawing and careful, precise fingering on his flute. Gross motor skills, however… the two bounces Wylan gave the basketball took effort. His palm didn't curve right to its pebbly surface. But he met the ball—twice!—before Jesper scooped it away.

Rhodri barked. He seemed excited by all of this, dancing at the edge of the lawn, following the ball. He had learned to stay off the driveway during games.

Wylan scratched Rhodri behind the ears as Nina and Jesper fought for the ball. They could play basketball properly; Wylan was marking up points in a game with far higher stakes. He was outside. Even with a phone in case of emergencies, being physically away from Genya was its own small victory. Genya was safe. Genya didn't get angry with him. Genya—  
  
But he was nearly seventeen years old. Deep down, Wylan knew the word for what he felt about Genya, and he could feel that, but he wouldn't allow himself to _need_ her. Not constantly.   
  
With Nina and Jesper, Wylan appreciated being included. He appreciated being a spectator, too. Jesper's fidgeting made sense now. He was made to be in motion, to control the ball and the court with fluid, confident moves. Wylan hadn't noticed the night they swam, too focused on his own technique. Now he noticed. He noticed other things, too, like Jesper's shirt tossed on the lawn and how low his shorts hung on his hips, the way he gleamed with sweat…

Those thoughts were headed directly and inopportunely south. Wylan touche his wrist, forced his thoughts back to the game and leapt in, putting forth his usual good effort. 

Nina made the next shot, arm out as she scuttled quickly to block Jesper.

"Game!"

"Ugh, you asshat!" Jesper groaned. They shared a 'good game' high five, and Jesper suggested, "One round of 'horse'. Let Wy get in on the action."

"Sure. Start us off," Nina said, tossing the ball to Wylan. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve. 

Wylan caught the ball and approached the basket. Nina and Jesper shot from 15 feet back, but Wylan took his granny shots from wherever. He rarely made a basket, so no one cared that he had an unfair advantage.

This time the ball grazed the rim and almost… almost… but it fell back. Wylan scrambled for it and tossed it to Jesper.

"I've got H," he announced.

He learned by listening to Nina and Jesper. Wylan could spell it now, h-o-r-s-e, and though he couldn't read or write the word, he could lose with his dignity intact. 

Wylan was out after six shots, five honest and one lucky, but Nina challenged Jesper to free throws until someone missed. Wylan sat on the grass, petted the dog, and appreciated the show. Jesper won this round.

"So… popsicles," Nina said, but there were none in the freezer. "I need ice cream." 

"Well," Wylan suggested helpfully, "there's milk, sugar, and salt."

Nina laughed. "God, you're adorable. We're going to Shell. My treat."

"I'm convinced!" Jesper said.

Rhodri was waiting eagerly when they came back outside. Jesper untied his leash and ruffled his fur. Rhodri licked his hand. Those two were made for each other, and Wylan couldn't watch them without smiling. 

"Why salt?" Jesper asked.

"It lowers the freezing point for water. The colder the environment, the creamier the solution since the ice crystals are more evenly distributed. I made ice cream with one of my tutors when I was ten," Wylan explained, sheepish by the end. He shouldn't have talked about his old life. The more he saw of how most people lived, the more self-conscious he felt about growing up in privilege. Working with private tutors wasn't an option out here—even if someone could afford it, there was no one to take the job.  
  
Jesper sighed. "Pretty _and_ smart."

While Nina and Jesper traded advice on improving each other’s basketball game, Wylan couldn’t help imagining who he would have been if he weren’t like this. If he had been the son his father wanted—a smart son, a son who liked girls like boys were supposed to—he would never have had any idea. He would have grown up with every advantage, probably worked with tutors in high school, had his father’s connections to old families and Ivy League alumni. He would have worked hard, he hoped, been a diligent student, but he would still think he had somehow earned everything despite it being handed to him. He would think he earned a spot in a top college without considering the people who had to work after-school jobs, whose fathers couldn’t afford tutors and SAT prep classes.

An electronic bing-bing sound pulled him back. The convenience store exhaled conditioned air over them. Nina sighed gratefully as she held the door.

He wasn’t the son his father wanted, the bright young man he could have been proud of. He was Wylan Van Eck, a foster kid eagerly awaiting official status with a boyfriend, someone he considered a friend, and two people who had welcomed him into their family. And that was just fine by Wylan’s standards.

The gas station was less than a mile from Zoya's place, but they were all dripping sweat. Rhodri's head was low. Jesper managed to tie his leash to a post near a patch of shade, so the pup would have some relief from the blistering July sun. The air conditioning and shade of the indoors hit him at once, making Wylan’s knees weak. He pulled his shirt away from his skin. The heat was savage.

Nina and Jesper had not waited. Wylan caught up to them by the ice cream freezer and joined them, scanning the offerings. 

"Ooh, Chips Galore," Nina said. She opened the freezer, but when Jesper reached in, she grabbed his hand. "Jesper. Do not. Waste your pick. On gum."

"Excuse me, did I ask your advice?"

"I'm your friend, you don't have to ask. You always regret it. Dude, you like ice cream sandwiches. You don't even like frozen gumballs. But you always get it for the gum."

Jesper sighed and grabbed an ice cream sandwich. "Just because you're right doesn't mean you're not a jackass."

"I know."

Wylan grabbed an ice cream sandwich, too, and headed to the register with his friends. He couldn't help but notice the newspapers on the counter. As Nina paid for their ice creams, Wylan found his gaze lingering on the image of his father. In the headline were two of the words he could pick out—"Van Eck". Maybe when he got home, he could ask Genya what it said. Maybe he didn't need to know…

Jesper grabbed Wylan's elbow and led him outside, tearing him away from the image.

"You okay?"

Wylan nodded. "I just hope he's okay," he explained, tearing open his ice cream. 

"Why the hell would you hope he's okay?" Nina asked. "I hope he has kidney stones the size of golf balls."

"He's my dad," Wylan objected. He couldn't defend a lot of what Jan Van Eck did, but the man was still his father.

"Isn't David your dad now?"

"Shut up!"

"What the hell, Wylan? Why are you defending him?"

Jesper stepped between them. "Chill," he told them both. "Eat your ice creams or I'll eat them for you."

Nina huffed, but did what Jesper suggested. After a few moments she said, "I shouldn't have said that about David."

Wylan shrugged. "I'm sorry I got mad. I know what he did was… not the best thing. I just..." He shrugged again.

"It's okay to miss him," Jesper said. "I wish you didn't, because he's a bastard who treated you like crap, but I can't blame you."

Wylan looked around. There were a few people on the opposite sidewalk, but the town was quiet, mostly. No one would overhear. "He always had the most time for me when he was campaigning. He would've come for me, you know. If I had stayed, he would have come for me to join him on the campaign trail like I always do. It's busy—exhausting, actually—but he brought me with him when he could." 

His ice cream sandwich was going melty at the edges, just how Wylan liked it. He licked the ice cream out from between the cookies.

Jesper snickered. "That is the filthiest possible way to eat an ice cream sandwich."

"I'll wash my face later," Wylan said.

Now Jesper and Nina both laughed so hard they nearly doubled over. Then Wylan caught the joke. A slow, blistering blush covered his face.

"I hope Rhodri eats your ice creams," he grumbled.


	18. Now. Then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter deals with conversion therapy. It alludes to physical, emotional, and religious abuse, hate speech (not included but referenced), misogyny, and homophobia (obviously). It also includes a suicide attempt (non-graphic and unsuccessful but the intent is clear). I will not be providing a summary for this one.
> 
> Researching for this chapter was hard. Writing it was harder. I tried to write it with respect and without sensationalizing. 
> 
> Throughout the chapter are some "current" pieces of Wylan talking to David; if anyone would like to read those WITHOUT the conversion therapy bits, leave a comment and I'll reply with the Wylan & David pieces.

**_Then_ **

"You're here to change, and you can't do that until you _want_ to change. That's what we are, this is a place for boys who want to change."

Wylan had been hustled quietly away from the convention. He would be somewhere safe, Father assured him, away from the TMZ scandal. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this facility, a low building in the middle of nowhere that promised to rescue young men from unnatural desires.

Wylan thought about that day—had it only been days ago?—on the roof in Des Moines. He remembered the faint breeze rustling his hair, the faint traffic sounds. He remembered his almost-boyfriend's smile and how it lit his eyes when Wylan said the words.

_I'm gay._

"Do you want to change?"

Hale wouldn't. Wylan _didn't_ , but he was… he was scared. His eyes darted around the room, at the unfamiliar walls and the unfamiliar faces, at everyone else in their uniform button-down shirts. He wanted a uniform. He wanted to disappear into the crowd instead of standing alone in a strange place. What was through that door? The next? He couldn't recall and it was like that cut him off from the world.

"Do you want to change, Wylan Van Eck? Do you want to be the son your father wants? He wants you to come home, he told me."

Wylan wanted that. He did.

He didn't.

He didn't know, and all that not knowing jammed his throat. Wylan didn't think he could speak even if he wanted to.

"That's too bad."

When they walked him back outside, the fresh air felt like freedom against his skin. His heart lifted—was this really it? Would they really send him home? Home would be okay. Father was furious but he had been furious before, it would blow over—

"Stop."

Wylan stopped.

The man turned and with a matter-of-fact hate called him a name his father would never say in front of strangers.

It hurt. He flinched and looked down the long driveway. There were no cars; would they make him walk?

The insult came again.

"Look at me."

No.

"Look at me."

Not his name, just that insult, a term to tell him that he was something filthy and hateful.

Wylan tried to curl in on himself, but his shoulders were grasped from behind, strong hands forcing him to stand up straight.

"These are the consequences of your actions, this is what _you_ are choosing. If you're old enough to make that decision, you're old enough to face it."

He was not brave while they called him names. He was terrified, frozen in fear and dread as the realization hit him in a slow chill: he wasn't going home. He wasn't going anywhere.

Wylan knew they were like his father, knew his standards for being a man. It would go better for him if he managed not to cry. 

He tried.

He failed.

* * *

**_Now_ **

Wylan woke up in the dark. The room was warm but he felt cold, the sweat almost icy against his skin. His breath came in shallow gasps and rasped too loudly for him to hear anything else. His eyes sought some, _any_ sign, anything to anchor him—there. He could focus enough now to see the lines of light from the window breaking the shadows of the room.

As his eyes adjusted, he made out faint shapes in the dark. Spaceships. Planets. Jesper was the one who plucked the sheets off the shelf at Target and asked Genya, "Has he told you how much he loves astronomy?" Wylan secretly loved the sheets, even as he protested they were childish. He had tried to hide them from David, but when David finally saw them he deemed them "cool, as much as I understand cool" and that was that.  
  
Jesper.

Genya and David.

Safe. Safe. _Safe_.

* * *

**_Then_ **

In the morning, he could come inside and have breakfast if he resolved to no longer be a sodomite.

He was hungry and shivering.

He agreed. He tried not to see Hale's face, tried and failed not to picture his disappointment, but he agreed. He would come back to God.

They sheared away his curls. Then they gave him pancakes and a navy blue button-down shirt and a rubber band to snap whenever he felt a sinful urge.

* * *

"Christ died for our sins. He loves us, every one of you, and is ready to welcome you like a shepherd welcomes his lost sheep back to the flock."

* * *

He was a sinner. He was confused. He was giving in to wickedness and temptation.

He tried not to touch the too-short fuzz on his head.

He failed.

* * *

"It's unnatural, men being with men. It's weird. Experiencing desires for this sort of thing is a sign that God is testing you. He wants you to resist. Remember, He loves you. He wants you to succeed."

* * *

They told him to copy out Scripture.

He didn't dare tell them the truth, the way words rearranged in front of his eyes. What if they thought he was possessed? Wylan did not believe in possession, but he was pretty sure these people did.

"I know it," he tried. "I can learn it and say it back to you."

He went to bed hungry and bruised and alone, and the sheets were scratchy. He missed his sheets from home.

Somewhere in the dorm, someone sobbed until a couple of bigger boys gave him a kicking. Wylan kept himself determinedly quiet. He wished someone would make it stop.

* * *

**_Now_ **

Wylan’s heart continued to thud painfully and he had a hot, sick sensation prickling across his skin. He couldn't stay here, not even on the sheets Jesper picked out, the sheets Genya bought, the sheets David liked. He would lose his mind if he had to lie here all night in the dark. Instead, he pushed back the covers and dropped his feet carefully to the ground.

He paused outside Genya and David’s bedroom door. He didn't think Genya would be angry with him; didn't think David would, either, though he was tougher to predict. For a moment, Wylan imagined Genya seeing his face, knowing he needed her. Imagined her calling him _kid_ , holding him, making everything okay.  
  
He couldn’t bring himself to knock.

Making as little noise as possible, Wylan padded down the dim hallway to the front door. The click of the deadbolt seemed to ring out like a shotgun in the sleeping house. His heartbeat roared like thunder. But no one woke up. No one came to ask where he thought he was going. No one came with a raised hand and threats in their eyes, but he cringed inside, anyway.

* * *

**_Then_ **

"You can't be fixed until you get past your hatred of women."

Wylan didn't hate women.

"It's okay. Your mother abandoned you."

Father put away the pictures of her and they didn't talk about Wylan's mother. At first it was hard, but he adjusted.

"It's okay to hate _her_ , but you are blaming all women and punishing yourself."

He didn't hate his mother.

"You can't serve God as a queer."

Hale had said that word, too. It didn't sound bad when he said it. Wylan pictured his perfect lips and bright eyes and the fiery rivers of Hell.

* * *

"God made you, and He doesn’t make sinners. He makes people who can choose not to sin."

* * *

He curled up into a tight ball under the covers.

Another boy reported that Wylan had abused himself.

He slept with his hands on top of the covers after that.

* * *

"Do not lie with man as with woman. It is blasphemous."

* * *

"Do you understand the purpose of this program?"

"Yes. It's going to fix me."

"What about you needs fixing?"

He thought about his… his ex-boyfriend. His boyfriend? The handsome boy with the starbursts in his eyes.

He snapped the rubber band around his wrist.

"I don't want to be a sodomite."

"Good man, Van Eck. Your father would be so proud of your progress."

* * *

"God so loved mankind, He sent His only son to die for us. He _will_ forgive you. All you have to do is ask."

* * *

**_Now_ **

Wylan stepped out into the night, letting the fresh air slide under his t-shirt. He closed the door behind him, careful to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to wake Genya or David, he just needed to break this sense of walls around him so he could breathe. He needed to know he could leave.

He took a few steps down the driveway, then sat on the cement and tilted his head back to look at the stars. A breeze ruffled the sleeves of his pajama shirt and somewhere a few blocks away, someone drove a car. Time slowed. Or sped up. Maybe it snapped like a rubber band. He really wasn't sure how long he had been there before someone came and sat next to him.

"Do you want me to get Genya?" David asked.

Wylan shook his head. He didn't want to wake her—didn't want her seeing him like this, either. He wanted her—he had never been alone with David and inched tighter into himself, but he didn’t want someone else to see him like this.

"Do you want me to go?"

He shook his head again. He wasn't sure what he wanted. The sick sensation in his stomach had eased just slightly.

"Okay."

* * *

**_Then_ **

They told him to copy out Scripture. He asked to speak to his father, but his father didn't want to speak to him until he could be a good boy. He was bad and that's why he was here.

The cold shocked through him. Before he could recover, the water closed over his head.

It was just for a little while. Father would visit. He would explain that Wylan couldn't read, not anything, and things would get better.

* * *

He had been down this corridor before. Was he here now or had this already happened?

* * *

"Be fruitful and multiply, it's right there in Genesis, in the very beginning. So by being with a man, with a partner who can't do that for you, you are automatically going against your purpose."

* * *

He walked all wrong. Moved his hands too delicately. He needed to stop practicing femininity and be a man.

_A boy can be whatever he wants._

His eyes stung at night in the dark.

_I like you for the boy you are._

"Pussy."

He thought about Hale at night in the dark. He thought about his warm, gentle, always-moving hands and the way he looked at Wylan like he was worth seeing. It had been so long since Wylan felt that way. Since he felt anything good. 

He thought about Hale. He abused himself to it. 

They took his blankets and when he curled up tight and shivered, he tried to remember that his soul was being saved. He tried to think about going to Heaven and earning forgiveness. 

* * *

"Jesus loves you. He does. He wants you to be happy, you can't live a sinful life and be happy."

* * *

There was a lot of prayer. Wylan had always found solace in faith. _Their_ prayers were different. They weren't words of worship but supplication.

He was a sinner.

His soul was unclean.

* * *

  
  
  


**_Now_ **

After a few minutes, Wylan said, "There was this room, they…"

The night was so quiet he imagined he could hear the hum of the neon sign in Genya's shop window. It wasn't on, but why would his imagination care about reality? His words seemed plucked away into the night, diffusing into the peacefulness.

"You're not going back."

Wylan nodded. Genya had promised that, too.

"Do you want to talk about it?" David asked.

Wylan shook his head. He wanted David to hug him, but David did not spontaneously hug and Wylan didn't have the courage to ask.

"Know much about stars?"

"Yeah."

"I know that one, that's the Big Dipper."

"It's interesting, the Big Dipper," Wylan said. "That one, Alioth, the first one on the handle after the bowl? It's the brightest. Megrez, the one at the juncture between the bowl and handle, it's the dimmest. Megrez is only .3 parsecs farther from the sun than Alioth. The second-brightest, Dubhe, is the farthest away. The only way we experience stars is by their light—except the sun, of course, we feel its heat and live by its gravity, but most stars we just see ghosts of what they were. What we'd think, like the brightest being closest, it's not true. Sometimes the brightest thing is so far away. Sometimes you remember you're just floating in the darkness."

"No," David said, "we're not. You said it yourself. We're pulled by the sun's gravity and surrounded by… ghost lights. I'm not very good at metaphors."

Wylan smiled. He thought David was just fine at metaphors—maybe not at making them, but at slicing right through to what mattered most.

* * *

  
  


**_Then_ **

"Pray with me for your salvation."

* * *

He had been here before. Sat at this table, eaten this sandwich, cut his eyes to the same clock.

He had done this day many times.

* * *

"Secular people use it so casually. They say 'go to Hell' like it's not a real place. It is a real place. I know it can feel like you're suffering now, but we are actually saving your souls from an eternity of suffering in the next life."

* * *

"Who's Hale?"

Wylan was vaguely confused. There was nothing warm left inside of him, so how had it just frozen?

He couldn't think of a lie. He couldn't _lie_ , not about him.

"My boyfriend."

The other boy cocked his head. Tattled. Loudly.

The water closed over his head before the shock faded. He shivered and his teeth chattered. He thought about Hale. About being held.

Hale, with his beautiful smile, so far away.

* * *

"...and you will be rewarded in the Kingdom of Heaven."

* * *

"Father!"

Wylan clutched the phone tightly. He was just so happy to hear his father's voice, but Jan sounded almost bored.

"Are you doing well?" 

"Yes, Father, as well as I can, but they want me to copy out passages from the Bible."

A long pause. 

"Then do it," Jan said.

The line went dead. Call over. 

That was when Wylan understood. He was never leaving. He saw his future stretch out like a long dusty road of nothing. 

No one was coming for him. 

No one wanted him.

He had fallen off the edge of the world. Would Hale even remember him? No… he wouldn't. Why kid himself? A smart, fun, attractive guy like that didn't wait for a moron with pretty eyes. He could have someone real, someone whole. He probably already did. 

And Wylan? He was what he was always destined to be. 

He was nothing to no one. 

* * *

"You are so loved. You are here because you’re loved, because God loves you enough to forgive you and redeem you, and because your parents loved you enough to send you here to be saved from your own worst impulses. Know, always, that you are loved."

* * *

**_Now_ **

"Thanks for sitting with me."

"You're welcome. That's good remembering about the astronomy… things. I don't know," David said when Wylan gave him a questioning look, "it's in the DHS handbook. Most of the compliments seem strange, if I'm supposed to tell you your recall and analysis indicate a strong intellect and high level of engagement, why not say that?"

This time Wylan almost wanted to laugh. "It's okay with me if you say that."

"Good, because the handbook also recommends telling you that you are tremendous, sensational, and marvelous, and those are unnatural compliments."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "I didn't know there was a handbook."

David nodded. "Genya and I were licensed a little over a year ago, though we never did take in any children until you. It's a very detailed book and contains a list of '100 Ways to Say 'Very Good''. I thought it might help but it all felt stilted."

David might not think he was any good at metaphors and expressing feelings, but Wylan appreciated his directness right now. He knew, for a fact, that David wouldn't have sat with him if he didn't care. He appreciated that David let Wylan decide if he wanted company and whose company he wanted. Neither of those would have mattered if David disliked Wylan.

Maybe it wasn't outright approval, but it felt close.

David cleared his throat, then said, "If you want to hear other compliments, I can say them. Just tell me. Or write it down. Sometimes that can be easier than speaking."

Wylan suspected he would have agreed. Genya had promised to keep his secret for now, so David had no way of knowing how bitterly his words landed. Maybe it would have been easier. What if Wylan could just write a letter to Genya and David, or what if he had been able to write to his father, to explain? Would Jan have been able to forgive him for being gay if he had at least been gay and smart?

* * *

  
  


**_Then_ **

His first day, Wylan stood outside and wept while the others here, his peers and the adults alike, shouted abuse until he promised to change. Even though he heard the words frequently now, he still found himself flinching, sometimes, at the memory. He had stood and listened as they told him how low he was, how dirty and despicable. That night, they didn’t let him sleep. Every time he started to drift off or tried to sit, someone shouted him awake, onto his feet, shouted to keep thinking about what a sick little sinner he was choosing to be.

When he saw a new boy touring the facility that evening, Wylan’s heart wrung in hope that he would agree to change.

 _Just agree,_ he willed the new boy. _You don’t have to mean it, but say it._

He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of boy who could have walked down the street and no one would have known. Where Wylan had been tongue-tied and cowering, the new boy stood strong and said it proudly.

"There is nothing wrong," he said, "with how God made me."

Something hot and sick clenched in Wylan’s stomach, dread washing over him at the thought of what he was about to be part of, but several seconds after the new boy left, the others followed him outside. Wylan let himself fall to the back of the group. He wasn’t the only straggler and caught eyes with another, once, caught the look of fear as they both quickly looked away from each other like they were simultaneously ashamed of what they were soon to see and ashamed of being seen.

It was a bright, hot midday, the sunlight fierce against his pupils. Wylan blinked rapidly as he kept moving, didn’t dare fall behind as they encircled the new boy, hurled words like stones. They hit like stones, too. He knew. He remembered. Wylan moved his lips, but he didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t…

But he couldn’t stop it, either.

He didn’t know if he wanted to puke or weep. Standing here, even silent, he was an accessory. He was a part of this. Wylan looked at the new boy with his proud shoulders and clenched jaw. How long could he hold out?

"I’m not hearing your voice, Van Eck."

Wylan nearly jumped at the words, so close he felt their hot breath on his ear.

"I…" He scrambled desperately for some excuse, _any_ excuse.

"You do understand what this boy is, don’t you? He’s a filthy sinner." The word was not _sinner_. "His soul is unclean, just as yours was. Help him see that he needs to change."

Wylan gave the faintest shake of his head. "Please…"

The response was a disappointed click of the tongue that sent a tremor through Wylan. Would they make him stand out here, too? Or put him in another bath?

Wylan Van Eck opened his mouth and shouted the ugliest word he knew at another boy who had done nothing wrong.  
  
Wylan knew shame. Usually it slipped inside his mind like feet into a pair of familiar slippers, giving a little wiggle as if to say, _hello, I’m home_. This was different. This was no visitor. A part of him broke when he said it. There was something inside Wylan that just knew he no longer deserved to live. The longer he stayed here the further he would go from everything good and right he had ever known or been. It was the opposite of a warm hug from someone he trusted.

He wasn’t a person anymore.

That was when Wylan turned and headed for the driveway. In all the commotion, he made it several yards away before anyone spotted him. He wasn’t thinking in any sort of long term. Mostly he just wanted to go stand in the road and wait to die. Somehow that seemed possible. A car would come, would rush, wouldn’t see him even though this was a long stretch of flat road.

"Hey! Stop!"

Wylan did not stop. His shoes touched asphalt.

"Van Eck!"

To the middle, to the faded yellow lines that marked a quick end from either direction.

And then… footsteps.

Wylan turned. It hadn’t occurred to him that someone might chase him. That this was the end of him had simply felt so right, why put more thought into anything? But they were coming now, and Wylan’s heart gave a hard jerk in his chest.

He had walked away without thinking. Now, without thinking, he began to run.

Wylan had never been an especially athletic boy, but with two furious-looking men on his tail, he ran harder and faster than he thought possible for his weak, effeminate, pathetic body. He ran. He ran scared, knowing glimpses of what might await him, knowing he was making it worse and not caring. He ran from the person he had become and the place that made him that way, and with no plan and no goals and nothing but fear, he _ran_.

As the adrenaline faded, he forced himself to keep moving. The alternative was too horrible.

Wylan's breath tore through his throat, hot and harsh like carpet burn. Tall grasses tugged at his knees. He stumbled but forced his legs back under him, forced himself to keep moving. They hurt. All of him hurt, from the pain in his shins to the sweat stinging his eyes but he had… to keep… running.

He wouldn't go back.

* * *

  
  


**_Now_ **

"What else does the handbook say about kids like me?"

"I don't think they make a handbook for your situation, Wylan. However, the generic handbook includes sections on age-specific characteristics. The sixteen-to-nineteen section says you have essentially achieved physical maturity, prefer adult books and magazines, date actively—though it does say you're meant to be dating girls. The handbook only mentions gay and lesbian youth in reference to suicide. Um… that, uh…"

"I'm not going to kill myself," Wylan said, realizing what David was trying to say.

"Good. That's highly preferable."

He didn't care how weirdly David phrased it. Having someone specifically state that they wanted Wylan to stay alive, someone who wasn't his dad but was the closest he had, meant everything.

"David?"

"Yes?"

"I… I’m ready to go back to bed, but do you think—could you just—could you look in on me in the morning, just to make sure I’m still here?"

"Should I wake you up?"

Wylan shook his head. "Not unless you need me for something. Just to make sure."

David sounded deeply confused as he said, "Okay, if it would help, I’ll do that."

It would help.


	19. Independence Day

WYLAN

The 4th of July brought beautiful weather, a breeze mercifully taking the edge off the humidity and just a few puffy clouds accentuating the blue of the sky. The town itself had embraced the season. Red, white, and blue buntings decorated houses and storefronts. It looked like something out of a picture book.

This wouldn’t be Wylan’s first time celebrating Independence Day. Far from it! He had been to multiple events every year. But had had been surrounded by security and watched by his father. For the first time, no one had scouted ahead and confirmed, and he wasn’t going to be poised every moment to avoid disappointing his father or doing something embarrassing that might be caught on camera.

He wasn’t even Wylan Van Eck, not anymore.

Two days ago, with help from Nikolai, they had finalized the official paperwork. Now he had his chosen name, Wylan Riley, officially a ward of the state in custody of Genya Safin and David Kostyk. He had wanted to use Wylan Hendriks, his mother's surname, but Nikolai said that would be too easy for Jan to trace. So today Wylan Riley, average, ordinary American kid, was walking to a 4th of July picnic with his foster parents.

"If you’re not comfortable with it, we’ll leave," Genya promised, squeezing Wylan’s hand. "You don’t have to give me a reason. We can go right home."

Wylan squeezed back. "Thanks, Genya."

Silently, he promised not to go too far. There were plenty of ways he could enjoy the picnic without worrying her.

"Genya," David reminded her.

"Oh, you don’t even like it," Genya retorted. To Wylan, she explained, "They like to do a little ceremony for local veterans. We don’t have to stay for it."

He wasn’t worried about the Fourth of July picnic, but was distracted by this new piece of information. 

"Where did you serve?" he asked David.

David shook his head.

Wylan looked to Genya, wondering why they needed to stay for the ceremony if it made David uncomfortable. Sure, Wylan was excited for the picnic—Jesper and Nina would be there, maybe their weird friend Kaz, and Jesper had described a lot of fun-sounding activities. He understood that David couldn’t always be in every environment, though. If things were too loud or chaotic or—well, Wylan he had seen David cringe every time he heard sirens. He knew David didn't experience the world the way other people did, that things _hurt_ him that didn't hurt others.

Genya laughed. "I was stationed in Okinawa," she said. So David hadn’t been shaking his head to say he didn’t want to answer—he had been telling Wylan he wasn’t the veteran in question. "Lucky I served, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to afford college and I never would have met David. Or Zoya and Nikolai."

"You met at school?" Wylan prompted.

Like she was confiding a secret, Genya said, "It was all terribly scandalous, David was a TA for my organic chem class."

"We dated after that class ended and we’re only a year apart in age," David added.

"Such propriety," Genya huffed, "but it’s true."

"Wylan!"

They had barely reached the park when Nina ran over to meet them. Wylan couldn’t help noticing her outfit, in part because her red t-shirt showed a generous amount of cleavage and in part because she made cut-offs look cool. He had tried cut-offs. If even Wylan thought he looked like caricaturishly gay, that look would get him beaten up when he met his schoolmates.

"Hey," Wylan said. He had seen her a couple of times since Jesper’s birthday party, but always with Jesper. It was nice that she was this happy just to see him.

She pulled him into a hug. "Hey! Come and do the cakewalk with me. Jesper’s not here yet."

"Genya?"

"Go ahead," she said.

Zoya, not far behind Nina, drawled, "How convenient that our surrogate offspring are friends, now we can have a conversation with interruptions."

"Excuse me, I don’t interrupt, I contribute!" Nina objected.

"And Wylan is not a surrogate child, he’s a foster child," David added. 

"Would you like to win cake, too, David?" Zoya asked.

"No. That’s for children."

Nina scowled. "Okay, boomer."

David objected, "I can purchase cakes. Minors, typically, have less disposable income." After a moment he added, "You’re not a minor, anyway. And I'm not a boomer, I'm a millennial, I was born in '84."

Genya put a gentle hand on his back. "Go play cakewalk, love. You’re statistically unlikely to win and you can give the cake away if you do."

"Wylan’s a minor," Nina said. "If either of us wins, we’ll give the cake to Wylan. Now hurry up or we’ll miss the next round!"

Wylan let Nina haul him away, half-turning to wave at Genya as he went. She looked fine and he wasn’t leaving her _alone_ but with Zoya.

Cakewalk turned out to be a game with multiple circles chalked onto the ground, each with a number written into it. The game-runner played music while participants—ten people, including the three of them—walked through the circles. The participants stopped when the music did and a number was randomly picked. Whoever stood on that number won a cake. Wylan had never played before, but he wouldn’t deny there was a degree of fun anticipation as they waited to hear who had won the cake.

None of them won the first round, but David won the second round despite a rather disappointed comment that this was not the expected outcome.

"Technically," he said as he, Wylan, and Nina set into his prize, "this isn’t a cake."

"I’m not complaining," Nina replied. She already had her mouth full. Her aim had been to win a cake, but the box of donuts was just as good to her mind!

Wylan looked at the chocolate-glazed pastry in his hand. He wasn’t saying no, either.

"Could it be both?" he asked. "Cake donuts?"

"No, these are yeasted," David said.

"Still good," Nina said.

David nodded his agreement.

Wylan, who had not been aware the two types of donut were cake or yeasted, bit into his snack and did not offer further opinions.

"Hey, look who’s here!" Nina waved energetically.

As Jesper and his father made their way over, Wylan hurried swallowed his mouthful of donut. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but he must have made a horrible impression at the birthday party; he had been a mess and wasn’t certain he had even properly introduced himself to Jesper’s father. Actually, he was fairly certain he hadn’t.

Nina pushed the donuts toward Jesper, who shook his head.

"Dude, the pie-eating thing isn’t for another two hours."

Jesper took a donut. "Perfect," he said. Then, pointing at Wylan, "Just like you."

Wylan felt himself turning bright pink.

"And you are not winning that contest."

"Try me!" Nina shot back.

"I literally will," Jesper said.

Jesper’s dad arrived at a regular pace, having opted against rocketing across the park like his son. He greeted Nina and Wylan politely, then said, "Jes, you’re not starting an argument."

"More like continuing an argument?" Jesper tried. "I told Nina about how I won the pie-eating contest last year."

"Told _me_? He told our entire therapy group. He described it like it was a marathon," Nina added, "it was amazing. Anyway, he’s not going to win this year."

"My victory will be complete and glorious."

Nina scoffed and took another bite of her donut.

David cleared his throat. "Colm, you remember Wylan Riley? He’s staying with Genya and me, he’s our foster son."

Wylan was initially surprised David offered the introduction. Jesper’s dad already knew who Wylan was, had seen him a week ago, didn’t really _need_ the introduction—Wylan only wanted one for the sake of politeness, not usually David’s forte. Then the words ‘foster son’ hit him full in the chest and he was too busy goggling like a caught fish to reply. He understood now. In a surprisingly subtle move for David, he was telling Colm about Wylan's official status and new name.

Jesper’s dad chuckled. "It’s nice to see you again, Wylan."

"Um—y-you too, Mister Fahey," Wylan managed.

Colm slipped easily into conversation with David. They worked on some of the same biofuel projects, albeit from very different areas.

"C’mon, guys. I saw confetti eggs over there," Nina said.

Jesper grinned.

"You’re already hungry again?" Wylan asked.

Nina rolled her eyes. "You don’t _eat_ confetti eggs. Come on, we’ll show you."

"David?"

David looked up from his hands. He tended to focus on them more when he talked about something that interested him, forgetting to affect social norms on the tunnel vision of biochemical engineering. Now he looked lost.

"We were going to get some confetti eggs," Wylan explained.

Colm translated: "He wants permission."

"Oh. Yeah, go ahead."

"Thanks, David!" Nina chirped, tugging Wylan away.

The confetti eggs weren’t hard to find. The booth was surrounded by a deepening confetti explosion and shards of eggshell. Wylan had never seen a confetti egg before, but he watched a small child pelt another with a literal egg and saw it burst into confetti, clarifying the concept.

They each bought a dozen confetti eggs.

"Now we split up," Jesper said. "Every man for himself."

"Or woman," Nina added.

"Every person for themselves," Jesper amended. "We each turn our backs and walk a hundred paces without looking the other direction, that’s fair."

"Because we’re pirates?" Nina asked.

"Each of us getting 120 degrees of the park does seem fair," Wylan offered.

They all turned their backs to one another. It gave Wylan a chance to locate Genya. When he did, he smiled and waved so she knew he was okay. She was sitting with Zoya. From this distance it was difficult to tell, but he was pretty sure that was a flask in Zoya's hand and he wasn't even a little bit surprised.  
  
As he walked his 100 paces, Wylan evaluated his area. There weren’t a ton of places to hide… did he want to hide? What was his plan of attack here? Maybe he could sneak off behind a car and—

Something hit the back of his head.

Wylan turned just in time to take a confetti egg to the chest.

"Hey!" he objected. His eggs weren’t even out! They were safely in their carton, cradled against his chest. He scrambled to retrieve one as Jesper pelted him with confetti eggs.

None of them made it 100 paces. The plan had been solid. The people executing it… overly eager. Jesper and Nina both ran to within ten feet of Wylan, hurling eggs. Wylan threw his first egg at Nina; it burst at her feet. Another egg hit his belly. Laughing, he tried again, this time hitting Jesper squarely in the chest.

It was the best day Wylan remembered having in a long time.

They all tried Spirograph art, something Wylan had never done before but found enjoyable enough. It was cool how altering the radius of either the internal or external disc modified the pattern and how each pattern eventually repeated, perfectly overlapping itself.

A second visit to the confetti egg booth led to another showdown, though Wylan was ready this time and managed to smash his final egg right on top of Nina’s head.

Jesper did win the pie-eating contest, and he celebrated with a ridiculous dance before he had even wiped the blackberry goop off his mouth. Nina retaliated by flipping him the bird. A few moms covered their kids’ eyes, which made Zoya laugh so hard she nearly spat out a mouthful of water—but nothing would make Zoya act so overtly silly in public. Still, Wylan filed away this new information: Zoya had a foolish side.

"So," Genya asked as they walked home, "what do you think?"

Wylan thought he was dehydrated and exhausted, with bits of confetti and eggshell on him. He already felt the sunburns on his face.

"New best day of my life," he said.

"New best day of your life so far," David corrected.

Wylan laughed. "Yeah," he agreed. "So far." Then he realized… David had just told a joke. David didn’t tell jokes. Wylan stared at him. Staring nearly caused him to topple over, but he found his feet again and carried on, mixing staring and walking.

Genya laughed. "David, you’ve confused him."

"I only told a joke."

"That’s confusing!" Wylan objected.

"He doesn't know that reference. He was only four, you walnut," she told David. Then, to Wylan, "It’s from _The Simpsons Movie_."

David nodded. "I respect a group who can write not only comedy but scientific formulae as well. Besides, it’s the one joke for which the context often arises naturally in conversation."

Wylan considered that, then he agreed, "That does make a lot of sense."

Genya shook her head. "My nerds," she said affectionately. "What would I do without you?"

"You’d be fine," Wylan told her. "It’s us without you that’d be in trouble."  
  
"Oh. And you’re invited to church with the Faheys," David said as they arrived back home. "Colm didn’t want to ask you until he had our permission."

Genya added, "He goes to a nice church." 

Wylan nodded. "Yeah, Jesper told me."

Specifically, Jesper told him that Colm decided he was a Methodist about five years ago, shortly after Jesper came out to him. He didn’t say anything about his reasons. He didn’t have to—Jesper could do the math.

"I’d like to go," Wylan decided. He would text Jesper later. For now, he searched Genya’s face for any sign of disapproval, but found none. "But I won’t if you don’t want me to."

"Whatever your decision is, we support you."

He tried to imagine how his father would have reacted if he had taken in a foster child and that child didn’t want to go to his church. Jan would never have tolerated such a thing. Wylan’s sexuality had forced him to re-evaluate his own beliefs and he knew that, to his father, it wasn’t about cruelty. He knew an evangelical Catholic like his father truly believed that he was saving a person’s soul by bringing them to God through whatever means.

Once, Wylan had agreed. He couldn’t do that anymore and was torn inside. He didn’t want to reject his father in his heart, but he felt an ease of tension, a welcome but unexpected comfort hearing his Jewish foster parents’ careful neutrality to Wylan going to a Methodist church.

Unaware of the impact Genya’s words had on Wylan, David added, "I think he’s hoping you’ll be a good influence on Jesper."

Wylan couldn’t help laughing. "I can say prayers, not work miracles!"

As he drifted off to sleep that night, Wylan was keenly aware of his own happiness. Contentedness, even. Sleeping could be nerve-wracking sometimes—it was where his nightmares lived—but today had been an amazing day filled with amazing people. He felt, for the first time in a long time, more a part of his present than his past.


	20. Hopscotch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The review series referenced in this chapter is [Lost in Adaptation](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCPtiXdv7RoU8IkrJeNY73qw), it's really interesting and the reviewer is quite open about his dyslexia.

JESPER

Jesper and Nina's jobs weren't nearly as flexible as Wylan's, but they still found time to hang out. They had a routine by now. When Jesper finished up at Aldi where he was stocking shelves for the summer, he stopped by Genya's. Wylan was usually close by her, whether she was in her shop or the house behind it, and when Jesper asked if Wylan could come to Nina's, Genya always said yes.

Usually Rhodri had to stay home, but as he spent his time chasing butterflies and tagging after Colm on the farm, Jesper couldn't feel too badly for him. Besides, it was nice to know his da wasn't alone. 

Two things were unusual that day. First, Kaz was at Nina's. Second, it was a ridiculous scorcher, even for July, so bad Zoya agreed to keep the air conditioner running. It was another sign of being in the fancy part of town, central air, but Jesper wasn't complaining when he sat over the vent and the icy breeze shot up the back of his shirt. He sighed in relief. 

"So… cold… matches… Kaz's heart…"

Nina laughed. "You wish it was that cold."

"I do," Jesper said, unashamed of it. "And I love this shirt!"

He was wearing the shirt Nina had given him for his birthday.  _ Kiss me I'm Haitian/Irish/Welsh _ . 

"It's an awesome shirt," Nina said. "Probably the best shirt you own."

"Has it worked?" Kaz asked. He had his bad leg stretched out. Not for the first time, Jesper wondered what had happened to Kaz's leg. But that was like most things from before Kaz showed up here. It was a secret.

"Definitely the best shirt I own. And it hasn't yet, but maybe someone's going to change that," Jesper said with a grin at Wylan.

They were boyfriends and they had agreed on that, and when they had a chance, when they were in private, they could hold hands or cuddle a bit. They hadn't kissed, though. Jesper didn't mind, exactly, but he did occasionally remind Wylan that he wanted to. Usually Wylan didn't mind the reminders, either.

Jesper's expression faltered.

"Wy?"

Had Jesper gone too far? Wylan looked… hurt? Angry?

Jesper sat up straighter, abandoning some of the cold air. "You don't have to," he said. 

"I'm going to get a drink," Wylan said, getting to his feet. "Does anyone else want anything?"

"I'll take a Coke," Kaz said.

Nina gave him a shocked, chiding look.

Kaz shrugged. "He offered."

Jesper knew Wylan was overreacting, but he was still bothered by it. He didn't think he'd seen Wylan angry with him before and did not much care for the feeling. He pushed his heel along the floor like a kid with a Tonka truck. Wasn't his fault. Wasn't his stupid fault.

"Jes?" Nina asked.

"It was just a joke and he's overreacting," Jesper complained.

Wylan returned from the kitchen with two sodas, one of which he handed to Kaz and the other he placed in Jesper's hands, then plunked to the floor beside Jesper. It was very abrupt and not very Wylan-like. Jesper tried to read his expression, but the best he could come up with was 'veiled'. There was definitely a lot going on behind Wylan's eyes, and he wasn't letting anyone in.

The changes from his time in… in that place, they were coming undone. He stood a little straighter, held eye contact better. He had stopped apologizing so much. The physical changes were being undone, too. His hair was a little longer, not the old curls but enough to have some personality. Even the worst sunburns and bruises had faded, though new sunburns had taken their place from spending time outside with Jesper and Nina. Even his once-infected hand just had a fading scar. 

Was that it? Was he upset at the thought of kissing Jesper because of something that happened there? Wylan hadn't talked about it and Jesper hadn't asked, but they probably said all sorts of hateful things. Kissing boys makes Satan jizz his pants, or whatever the latest nonsense was.

"I can't read your shirt," Wylan said.

Jesper frowned down at his shirt. The words hadn't faded or anything.

"Are you… color-blind?" he guessed. It shouldn't be an issue, but Jesper wasn't colorblind himself. How would he know? Maybe the contrast was the problem.

Wylan shook his head. "Genya said there's a word for it, dis… dis something."

"Dyslexia?" Nina asked.

The word sliced into Jesper, the realization of what had actually upset Wylan. He genuinely didn't know what the shirt said. Jesper thought about that first night in the coffee shop. Wylan hadn't read his name misspelled on the cup. Wylan hadn't been able to read his cup at all.

"Oh, hell, Wy, you're dyslexic?"

Wylan looked from Jesper to Nina to Kaz. Nina, who had been sitting in an armchair, came to join them on the floor. Jesper set aside the drink Wylan had brought him and Nina picked it up.

She shrugged innocently to his incredulous look. "What? You weren't drinking it!"

He wasn't, but was she ever not after sugary treats?

Okay, so he knew the answer to that. Nina's sweet tooth knew no bounds.

"Yes. I am dyslexic," Wylan said.

"Is that why your dad said all those things about...?" Jesper asked, remembering that day in the hotel. He had hated it, and he was ashamed of himself. He had hated listening to Jan Van Eck demean his son. Jesper knew bullying was wrong and had been raised to believe it was okay to intervene if someone was being picked on. His ma wouldn't have stood in the next room and just listened. His da wouldn't. But Jesper had.

Wylan nodded. "I used to think it was like that for everyone. I thought the letters moved for everyone, that learning to read meant learning to make them stop moving. I was just too… too stupid, or I wasn't working hard enough."

"Can you read at all?" Kaz asked.

Jesper had been so focused on Wylan, he hadn't noticed Kaz, the strange glint in his eye. Oh, no—Jesper would have a word with him later. Whatever scheme Kaz was cooking up, the answer was no. He wasn't leveraging using Wylan's disability.

"A little," Wylan said, "if the word is isolated, that helps."

"That's why he took you out of school."

"My father… he knew our family would be in the spotlight for a long time. He said he didn't want it to be public—he didn't want me to be a joke. But Genya doesn't think I'm a joke. You don't think that. Do you?"

Jesper and Nina both replied that they didn't. Kaz said nothing, but that was Kaz. 

Jesper had stopped noticing the cold air or the rattle of the vent, things that had seemed so important only moments before. He barely noticed Nina. He couldn't help being curious about Wylan, his boyfriend from another planet entirely. When Wylan visited Jesper's home, he had looked around, eyes wide. He had asked with such perfect manners if he could see Jesper's bedroom. Jesper wanted the same, to poke around the room in which Wylan had spent the most private moments of his life, but Wylan's room was a metaphor.

The metaphor hurt.

Though Wylan had claimed it was what he 'used to think', he only 'used to think' he was stupid, Jesper heard how much it hurt him. He moved closer and put his arm around Wylan.

"Thanks, Jes."

"Mm. Wait, but you can spell some stuff. You can spell 'horse'."   
  
Wylan blushed faintly. "Nina spelled it when she explained the rules. H-o-r-s-e. I can't see the letters in my head, but I know the sounds. Didn't… didn't you notice that the first time we played I made a mistake?"  
  
Jesper thought about that, but had to shake his head. "I'm not even sure when we first played. Unless you mean missing the basket, but that's every game."   
  
"I—the first shot, I said I had h-o? You called me a cheater and Nina called me a ho for the rest of the day?"   
  
"Oh yeah!" Jesper definitely remembered Nina calling Wylan a ho. His face had been  _ so _ red. "So you… don't even know letters? No, I just, I was only asking," he amended, feeling Wylan draw into himself.   
  
"I just—I mean, I know, I sort of know them. Once I was old enough, my tutors just assumed I could read, so no one tried to teach me. Anyone who started to figure it out was fired."   
  
That seemed especially stupid to Jesper. Jan Van Eck could afford to give his son every advantage, but instead of hiring a specialist with experience teaching kids with dyslexia, he got rid of anyone who might actually help Wylan.  _ Was _ it stupid, though? Or was Jan Van Eck just a sadistic bastard?

"I wanna show you something," Nina announced. She got up and left the room.

Jesper said, "You're not stupid. Your father…"

What did a person even say about Jan Van Eck? He was a goddamned monster, that's what Jesper wanted to say. He might not understand dyslexia especially well, but he understood that it wasn't a choice or a character flaw. Strangest of all, though, he was fairly certain it could be treated. Couldn't it? Shy of learning your dyslexia was actually a brain pre-wired to read ancient Greek?

"So there won't be records," Kaz said.

"Kaz, no," Jesper told him. "Whatever you're thinking, leave him out of it."

"Found it!" Nina announced, returning with her phone. "Watch this."

She sat beside the boys and started a video. It was cued up almost three minutes in and a crisp English voice narrated over footage from  _ Jurassic Park _ :

_ "Grant liked children. That's a direct quote from the book. I had to go back and reread it several times just to be sure my dyslexia wasn't acting up." _

"Anyway it's a whole series comparing movies to the books they're based on, done by a dyslexic reviewer. It doesn't come up a lot but he is dyslexic and he's super open about it. People like you aren't a joke," Nina concluded.

"But your father is a bastard," Jesper added.  
  
"And you don't have to lie to kick it."   
  
"'Don't have to lie to kick it' isn't a thing, Nina."   
  
"Like you'd know."   
  
"It's not!"   
  
"Kiss my ass, farm boy."

He assumed that was the end of it.

When he went home, Jesper was still angry about how Wylan's father had treated him. He couldn't help thinking about all the times he got into trouble being too fidgety or disruptive in class, and how his parents only ever responded by encouraging him to try harder next time, sometimes looking for solutions like finding something else he could do while listening. No one had done that for Wylan.

Jesper looked up more about dyslexia, something he had only been vaguely aware of before. He read about it online—and what do you know, every site he reached talked about how people with dyslexia are just as smart as people without. Too bad Jan Van Eck didn't have five minutes and a smartphone.

Since Wylan didn't want to talk about it, though, they wouldn't. Jesper wondered what words looked like moving around for him, but resolved not to ask.

At least until they got to Nina's the next day. She had specifically invited Jesper and Wylan over, and she met them outside with a squat box of 48 colors of sidewalk chalk.

"I looked it up," Nina explained, "and I thought this might help. We don't have to if you don't want to."

From the look on his face, he didn't want to, but Wylan said, "I'll try."

"Great! So here's what we're going to do."

She set up three games of hopscotch. Each one was four squares long, and each square contained a letter in a different color.

Nina went first, reading each letter as she landed in its box: "S-H-I-T," she announced. "Shit! Jes, you're up."

Jesper wasn't sure if this would help or if it was an excuse to write swear words, but he jumped through anyway, reading off the word as he went.

Wylan sighed and shook his head at them. "This is silly," he said.

"Duh," was Nina's reply, "it's hopscotch."

Wylan hopped onto the first square. He repeated the hops and letters the others had said, visibly concentrating with each new step.

They were still jumping across obscenities when Zoya arrived home from work. She regarded the hopscotch grids, then the three of them. Jesper shifted to stand in front of Wylan just slightly. He doubted Zoya would be especially angry, but if she was, Wylan wouldn't catch the brunt of it.  
  
Finally Zoya said, "If the neighbors' kids learn from this, I'm telling them it was your fault."


	21. Diagnosis

WYLAN

A week before school started, Wylan had his first up-close look at the campus. He wasn’t there to look around, but he took in what he could as he followed Genya through a courtyard—was it a courtyard when it was mostly concrete and a couple of trees? Didn’t courtyard suggest… green? The high school buildings were three stories. From Jesper’s description, Wylan knew the building to the far side of the courtyard—quad, Jesper called it the upper quad—was the middle school building. 

The door to one of the high school buildings was propped open. Genya led him through there, into a hallway floored with linoleum and lined with lockers. Aside from being underlit, it looked like something Wylan had seen on TV. He tried to picture himself as a student here, carrying his satchel through the hallways—everyone else used a backpack, Genya had told him, but Wylan liked the messenger bag style. 

"Just be honest," Genya said, pausing at a T-junction. "Do your best, but if anything is too hard or you can’t do it, that’s okay."

Wylan nodded, his throat dry.

"Whatever happens, it’s okay and I’m proud of you."

He nodded again, but it was more hollow and forced this time. One thing he missed about his old life was the clothes. Clothes could be like armor, in their own way; clothes were a way to present a confident enough image that no one questioned you. There was just a look—one Wylan had always read as, I’m here. I belong here. Jesper said that look actually read as, I have money. Wylan had thought it over and realized in his world those were one and the same.

Now he had on his better jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid shirt he had "borrowed" from Jesper. He clutched the ends of the too-long sleeves. Like Genya said… it would be okay.

Genya knocked on the doorjamb; the door itself was open.

"Hi!"

The teacher looked older, that was Wylan’s first thought, like maybe she was close to retirement, but she didn't look tired. She looked experienced. She wore jeans and what Wylan was pretty sure was a college t-shirt, and her frizzy hair was dyed purple.

"Thanks for doing this," Genya said.

"Of course, it's no problem."

"Wylan, this is Miss Moore, she’s going to evaluate you today."

The idea of being ‘evaluated’ still made him nervous, but Wylan nodded and offered his hand. "It’s nice to meet you, Miss Moore."

She shook. "Are you about ready to get started?"

"Sure."

He was not.

While Miss Moore explained a bit to Genya, Wylan looked around the room. He noticed some of the ceiling tiles were missing. Rather than chairs with desks attached to them—the more modern shows used chairs with desks attached to them—there was a long table in the center of the room with three chairs on either side. Posters on the walls cheerfully depicted the water cycle and a volcano. The alphabet was stapled along one wall, each letter on a different cartoonish image. 

"Wylan?"

He snapped his attention back to her. 

"I'm going now," Genya said. "I'll see you in a couple of hours, okay?"

Though he had known she would need to wait outside during the evaluation, he couldn’t help feeling nervous now. It was like being with one of his tutors again.

Wylan nodded. He would take the test, just like she said. He would try, do his best, and know it was okay if he didn't get everything right.

"Come sit down," Miss Moore said, pulling out a chair just slightly. 

Wylan appreciated the cue and gladly went to sit down. Yes, please tell me what to do! He did not know how to classroom. He hadn’t been in one of these places since he was… six? Seven? And even then, it had been a very different sort of setting.

She explained the importance of evaluation. Wylan nodded along. Yes, this was very important. Yes, he would do his best. Yes, it was okay if he couldn’t answer all the questions!

"Now, you are sixteen, is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But Genya said you'll be seventeen pretty soon."

Wylan nodded. "In September."

"September, that's coming up! Do you have any plans?"

"I don't know. I have a couple of friends, maybe we'll have cake?"

"That sounds like a nice birthday."

Wylan nodded again. The short conversation put him more at ease. He realized that was her goal, of course, but it still had him at ease.

"Let's get started on the evaluation. I'm going to give you a list of words and I want you to tell me which two are the most closely related. For example, fish, milk, fin, spider. Fish and fin are the two words that go together."

Wylan nodded. He understood that.

The word lists weren't difficult. In fact, things started off well. Wylan was asked to follow directions, to listen to a short speech and answer questions, to recall information. It took a while and he asked to stop for a restroom break halfway through, but other than that, the tests were almost… easy.

At least, until he was given a paragraph and asked to read it. Wylan forced himself to take a slow, deep breath as he looked at the page in front of him. Suddenly the clock seemed to roll back five months and he felt his father standing just behind him. _I am waiting, Wylan._ He had waited for an answer that never came. The longer he sat there, the more he felt twisted up, the harder it was to even say normal words, let alone words he had to read off a piece of paper.

The reading went badly. Wylan did his best—he had promised to do his best and he did, he did the best he could—but the writing went even worse.

When they were finally finished and Genya returned to the classroom, Wylan wanted to bury his face against her shoulder and hide. He didn’t—he was ashamed that he wanted to—but he did want to.

"Based on the tests," said Miss Moore, "Wylan appears to be profoundly dyslexic and dysgraphic. That means he struggles with reading and writing."

He lowered his head. He had known… part of that, but when Genya said it, she said it in the same tone with which she described him as a quiet kid or helpful. Hearing it now, in an official environment, felt like he was hearing a doctor announce he had profoundly advanced type II diabetes and was going to lose his foot. He hadn't even known there was another name for when a person couldn't write.

"I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this is good news. In everything but reading and writing, your scores are very high, and now that we know, I can start working with you on the first day of school. It’s unfortunate that this is your senior year, this should have been identified much earlier, but we still have a year. So that’s where we’re going to focus, okay? We’ll focus on what we can accomplish this year."

Wylan nodded, mute. 

Why had he agreed to this? How had he not realized he was walking right into the humiliation his father had tried for so long to spare him? And it was humiliating. Wylan looked away from the two women, his face burning. He didn’t care that the tone was gentle. He didn’t care that Jesper and Nina didn’t care, and Kaz, well, Kaz didn’t seem to care about Wylan at all, but the dyslexia hadn’t changed that. 

When he first heard the word, he had been relieved that he wasn’t the only one. Now it didn’t feel like understanding. It felt like a disease, like he was a package of meat that had not met industry standards and was stamped ‘rejected’. He was marked, branded. He got this shiny new identity and what did he do with it? Made sure it was forever associated with his defect.

"It’s okay, Wylan," Genya said, rubbing small circles on his back.

"Are you going to tell David?" He had asked her to keep private what he told her that night at Zoya's and Genya had honored his request. Now he knew that would change. Even then, she warned him it was temporary.

"Yes, I am. You don’t have to be there when I do, but he won't think any less of you."

Wylan doubted that. He tried to remind himself that they were talking about David Kostyk—the same David Kostyk who brought out his microscope to analyze soil before planting herbs in the garden, the David Kostyk who alphabetized his socks by color. But he still felt nervous.

"There is no reason this should have gone unidentified for so long. It's a disservice to you, Wylan, but now that we know, I promise things will be better, okay?"

  
Unable to find the words, Wylan nodded. He might not believe it, but he could hope that was true.  
  


* * *

  
  
That night, Wylan sat on his bed and listened to the muffled sounds of Genya and David's voices. She was telling him now, telling him… and David had been tolerant with Wylan, patient, maybe even liked him. He had sat with Wylan through difficult nights and Wylan had watched cartoons with David. He liked David, liked being included in his activities.  
  
Memories popped unbidden into his head. When Wylan was very small, his parents used to talk about him, too.  
  
They used to fight.  
  
_"...exactly what this campaign needs, Marya, for the whole world to know my son is a goddamned moron!"_ _  
_ _  
_ _"This isn't about you or your campaign!"_  
  
He gnawed his thumb.  
  
Genya had still wanted him after she learned about his defect. Jesper and Nina hadn't thought any less of him…  
  
Footsteps approached. Wylan wondered if he ought to curl up under the covers and pretend to be asleep. He squashed the thought. He needed to face this eventually; it would be better to just get it over with.  
  
David knocked and, when given permission, opened the door. Wylan tried to read if there was anything in his face to give away how he felt, anything in his posture, _anything_ to give just the slightest head start.  
  
"Genya told me you're dyslexic," David said. "She, um… personally I find having a diagnosis preferable. It gives you more established parameters through which to define and understand your experiences."  
  
Wylan nodded. Sure… if David said so, Wylan wouldn't argue.  
  
"Do you want to watch _Futurama_ ?"  
  
Did he… what? Wylan didn't understand at first. David was supposed to be angry, Wylan was so ready, so prepared for what he knew was coming, he had already told himself that a man's family was his reputation and when you were voluntarily allowed into a person's family and they found out you were like this… it was reasonable to… it would be okay if…  
  
Frowning slightly, David continued, "You don't have to. I was going to make popcorn."  
  
"I-I'd love to!" Wylan replied too quickly.  
  
Maybe this meant they weren't going to talk about the fact that he couldn't read. Wylan could live with it going unacknowledged, he supposed as he headed to the living room. Genya joined him and offered a reassuring smile, even if it did show weariness after a long day. Maybe this could be okay…  
  
As the show started, David told him, "'You can't prove it won't happen'."  
  
Wylan looked to him, not understanding.  
  
"That's what it says. 'Futurama: You can't prove it won't happen'. Stop hoarding the popcorn, Genya."


	22. The Official Gay Cute-o-Meter

JESPER

"There!" Wylan called eagerly, arm shooting up as he pointed out where a meteor had been only seconds before. "Did you see that one?"

"Yeah, it was awesome," Jesper agreed. 

He hadn't seen it. He was only vaguely watching the sky, more focused on Wylan, who was so happy he practically bounced. The Perseids were great, but his boyfriend grinning so broadly he almost looked drunk? That was something Jesper couldn't pass up.

The meteor shower had seemed like the perfect opportunity for one last end-of-summer date. They were sprawled out on an old blanket in the back of his pickup. The truck had been Colm's and was so old it would barely be worth the cost of scrap when he sold it, but Jesper kept it running with spit and gum. It basically functioned as a vehicle. It excelled as a spot for semi-private stargazing. Even out here sandwiched between the middle of nowhere and a corn field, Jesper liked having a bit of privacy with his boyfriend.

The night was perfect. It was humid but the heat had ebbed some, and the air was thick with crickets and katydids. There wasn't a cloud in sight, just millions of stars for Wylan and enough light from the half-moon for Jesper to have a nice view of his boyfriend. Rhodri was curled up at their feet, determinedly a part of things. Everything had been so shaken up that summer. Wylan's dyslexia and what his father had done to him, both put such a distance between them, but this felt right. They were together, and happy, and things felt easy between them.

With a gasp, Wylan pointed again. There must have been another meteor.

Jesper reached idly to toy with Wylan's hair. It had grown out over the summer, his curls nearly restored to their former glory and already fun to play with.

"Why does a space rock taste better than an Earth rock?" Jesper asked.

Wylan laughed. "What do you mean? They're rocks!"

"And it's a joke, go with it!"

"Okay, why?"

"Because it's a little meteor."

Wylan laughed, but a real laugh this time, so hard he snorted. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Your laugh is cute."

"My laugh is not cute," Wylan said.   
  
"I'll be the judge of that."   
  
"Says who?"   
  
"I got an app," Jesper said, pulling out his phone and poking at the screen. "This is the official gay Cute-o-Meter app."   
  
"There's an official gay Cute-o-Meter app, huh?"   
  
"There is, it's endorsed by George Takei." Jesper pretended to scan Wylan with his phone, then reported, "Yep—okay, hang on—it lags a little—yeah, there we go. It's official. You're officially cute."   
  
This was _entirely_ beside the point but Wylan pointed it out anyway: "You scanned me after I had stopped laughing." He propped himself up on one elbow to look at Jesper as he said, "I'm afraid what I feel about you isn't real."

Jesper felt his eyebrows raise. Even in the moonlight he could see the intensity of Wylan's expression. Okay, there were concerns here, some more serious than others. First up—"You have feelings for me?"

Wylan nodded.

"Good feelings?"

"I have feelings for you like… I feel warm when I think about you. I want to be next to you. Like I'd do anything to make you smile."

Jesper could hear Wylan blushing, the hitch it brought into his voice, but Jesper was just… thrilled. He liked someone who liked him back. He made someone happy who made him happy. Wylan said he wanted to make Jesper smile like he didn't do that every time he brushed his pinkie against Jesper's out in public, or wore one of Jesper's shirts over his own, or got so giddy excited he bled pure enthusiasm into the world. And while Jesper did not love watching the stars, they had a certain appeal when they wreathed Wylan's curly head.

So Jesper told him: "You're making me smile right now."

"I—I think I'm fa—um, okay, I, when I was… where I was before," Wylan began, and Jesper shifted into seriousness. 

Wylan hadn't talked about Love Twice Willed. Jesper had tried to research but it was all very tightly kept under wraps (nothing suspicious about that) because he wanted to understand where Wylan was coming from—but Wylan didn't want to talk, so Jesper didn't ask. And now that he did, Jesper didn't push. He just listened.

"They made me talk about my parents. They said that my mom, that I—and about my dad, i—if I could forgive him, I would stop longing for validation with other men. What if my feelings for you are redirected from him? You deserve better than that."

"Yeah, but your feelings for me aren't redirected from him."

"How do you know, though?"

"Because that's 100% bullshit," Jesper said, which to him was the simple and obvious answer. "You're not gay because you hate your father. Or because you're still waiting for him to love you, or—whatever it is, that's not how being gay works. If it was, why would I be interested in guys at all? You like me 'cause I'm me. I like you 'cause you're you."

If parental damage was what led to sexual and romantic interest, Jesper thought, then he would be asexual. Jesper was raised by two loving parents. His ma was dead, but she had loved him and been proud of him and he never doubted that. Jesper wasn't looking to make up for any missing parental affection, yet he would happily tell his friends he was _pansexual, that means I'm all the sexuals_.

Then Wylan pulled Jesper out of his thoughts by leaning closer and giving him a quick kiss, a press of Wylan's lips against Jesper's and then Wylan pulled away. He left a glorious, blistering, overjoyed heat coursing through Jesper.

Jesper grinned. "You want to take that to the next level?"

"Yes," Wylan said, and fizzing sparks tingled through Jesper's veins, "but I'm going to need your help."

"Wy," Jesper replied, his tone solemn, "I'm here for you."

Wylan laughed.

Jesper pulled him close and kissed him.


	23. Secret Agent Boyfriends

WYLAN  
  
Summer had been a long, sun-drunk time when time seemed to fall into stasis. The days melded into one another. He had learned so much, from household chores to the business management things he helped Genya with at the shop to the rules of basketball. (He still couldn't apply those rules, but he understood them!) Even though he was constantly too-hot, unless he was shocked cold stumbling into Zoya's place, Wylan wouldn't have traded the summer for anything.   
  
The world kept on spinning, though. No one consulted Wylan on the progression of the seasons, and one sticky morning at the end of August, he woke to a buzzing alarm. Wylan groaned. It was so… early! He rubbed his sleepy eyes and wondered if he could get away with a five-minute nap.   
  
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" Genya chirped, peering into Wylan's bedroom.   
  
"I don't wanna," Wylan moaned. He sat up anyway. All he had to do was just… put his clothes on. He would start there. Easy enough task. Pajama shirt off. T-shirt on. Jeans on. Socks on. Sneakers on. These were doable tasks. His clothes were already laid out. At Wylan's request, Jesper had helped him pick his outfit in advance.   
  
At a zombie-level shuffle, Wylan dressed. He talked himself through brushing his teeth and washing his face. By the time he made it to the kitchen, he was at least awake enough to lift his sneaker-clad feet.   
  
"I'm not going to do this every morning," Genya warned, "but since it's the first day of school."   
  
Well, that woke him up! First-day-of-school pancakes!   
  
"You're the best—"   
  
Wylan caught himself before he said the last word. _You're the best mom_ . Wasn't she, though? Objectively, well, he didn't remember his own mother very well. Maybe she made sure he got up for school. Maybe she made blueberry pancakes.   
  
"You're the best, Genya," he said, smiling at her in the hopes there was no harm done.   
  
Genya smiled back. "Do you want me to walk you to school?"   
  
Wylan quickly swallowed a mouthful of pancakes. They were really good pancakes. "No—I don't want the other kids to think…"   
  
"I understand. You're sixteen, you're basically all grown up."   
  
There was that, but he also didn't want them to think he was an imbecile. From what Jesper told him, it sounded like everyone knew who was called out for special ed help, so everyone would know Wylan was "special". If he showed up with his hand held—literally or metaphorically—on that first day, he didn't think he would live it down.   
  
Rather than explain that, Wylan stuck with Genya's explanation.   
  
"Thanks," he said, sheepish. "And thank you for the pancakes. They're really good."   
  
She kissed the top of his head. "Have a good first day, Wylan. Do your best, be yourself."   
  
"I will. I promise."   
  
"Then I know I'll be proud of you."   
  
Wylan put on a brave face when he left, swinging his satchel onto his shoulder and waving cheerfully. Everything inside him was squirming. He wanted to go back to bed, and not just because he was tired and squinting into the too-bright morning. Almost everything he knew about school made him worry. It sounded tough, socially, not to mention the fact he would be attending classes with his peers for the first time in almost a decade. He knew Jesper was picked on for being pansexual, and that was _Jesper_ —cool, smooth, funny Jesper who anyone would love! Awkward, shy Wylan didn't stand a chance.   
  
As he headed for school, he focused on Jesper. The one thing about school Wylan looked forward to was seeing Jesper five times a week. Jesper had mentioned they shouldn't do anything 'too gay'. They had been outside, under a tree on the Fahey farm. They didn't spend as much time at Colm's place as they did at Genya and David's, because Jesper came into town for work anyway and Colm had a rule against Jesper's bedroom door being closed when Wylan was over. Wylan couldn't recall now why he had been there, only that he had been lying with his head in Jesper's lap, trying to focus on Jesper's words over the sleep-inducing heat and the drone of insects.   
  
"It'll go better for you if people don't know," Jesper had said. "Just tell 'em we're friends. I'll still be your boyfriend outside of school."   
  
"You'll be my boyfriend at school," Wylan had replied. "We don't have to do boyfriend stuff, but you're still my boyfriend."   
  
"You're just going to be pretend straight."   
  
"Undercover. Like a secret agent. Hey, do you know any secret agents?"   
  
Wylan had laughed. "Of course not!"   
  
"No, I bet you do," Jesper had pressed, "you probably know all the cool people, I bet you're just holding out. I bet you've driven drunk with the Queen of England and painted the Chilean President naked and made out with the Mongolian ambassador's son."   
  
He had laughed harder. "I've never even met Queen Elizabeth, I did once shake hands with President Piñera but he was fully clothed, and Kuwei's just an acquaintance."   
  
Jesper, of course, wouldn't hear of it and had spent the next twenty minutes inventing a fictitious but very exciting life. As far as Wylan could tell, it included James Bond-level spying, Batman-level villains, and the occasional dinosaur from Jurassic Park. It was utterly absurd and hilarious, and bore no resemblance whatsoever to reality.   
  
Wylan knew they couldn't do any of the physical stuff at school. He couldn't drift half to sleep with his head in Jesper's lap. Jesper couldn't card his fingers through Wylan's hair. There would be no hand-holding, no cuddling of any kind. Obviously no kissing, but Wylan preferred to keep that to his bedroom, anyway.   
  
He arrived at school early and stood outside the front doors, twisting the strap on his satchel. He had never done this, any of this, he had never used a bag to carry his things to school, and he had checked and double-checked it last night for his binder, paper (college ruled and graph), calculator, mini stapler, mini sharpener, band-aids, pencils, pens, and erasers. The last three were in a zippered pouch, Jesper and Nina said pencil boxes stopped being okay in sixth grade, but a zippered pouch would be okay. Jesper and Nina also said having a mini sharpener and mini stapler stapler was a good way to endear yourself.   
  
Wylan forced a deep breath. In. Out. Okay—he was here. He was here and he had his things in his satchel—some in his zippered pouch. He did not have his sketchbook. If he didn't want people knowing he was gay, it was probably best no one have even the possibility of seeing his drawings of Jesper. They weren't provocative or anything—was it his fault Jesper's smile was so magical and difficult to capture?—but they were obvious.   
  
A few other students arrived, heading in or lingering out front like Wylan. He got a few curious looks and replied with a nervous smile and wave.   
  
Jesper said it was okay to draw. He encouraged it. _You're really talented, it's okay to let people see that._ _  
_ _  
_ _Don't brag,_ had been Nina's advice. _Don't be too humble or too proud._ Jesper called her out on that, but she claimed she didn't mind the attention she got and called Wylan a shrinking violet. He resented that, but since he didn't want to be in the spotlight, he couldn't really argue.   
  
So he would draw, just a little, no pictures of Jesper, and he wouldn't brag but he wouldn't be too humble, either.   
  
Wylan swallowed nervously. He could do this. He wished he had his good pencils or his flute, but the former was at home and the latter long gone.   
  
When Jesper's truck pulled into the student lot, Wylan stood up a little straighter. He was here! Not that there had been any question of course. And not that Wylan wanted to appear overly eager. Two weeks ago the inevitable had happened and one of the belts in the truck snapped. (Wylan had no idea what that meant.) Jesper was able to replace it out of his savings, and since that had been one of his father's bigger concerns, now Jesper was driving his truck to school. Apparently the bus was deeply unpleasant.   
  
Jesper stepped out of the truck with a grin, a wave, and a yawn in rapid succession.   
  
"Hey, dude," he told Wylan, offering a high five.   
  
Apparently acting straight had no concept of "too early for this stuff".   
  
Wylan high fived Jesper. It wasn't the hug he wanted and knew he wouldn't be walking into school with his arm around Jesper's waist like it ought to be, but at least they were together. Secret agent boyfriends.   
  
"How's it going?" Jesper asked.   
  
"Good. It's going good."   
  
They picked up their schedules—Jesper explained the whole thing to Wylan, pointing him to the right table—"Alphabetical, Faheys over here, Rileys over there." They had the same English 12A, civics, and physics classes in the morning, but after that they parted ways, Wylan in calculus, P.E., and art while Jesper's afternoons included computer science, trigonometry, and P.E. Jesper made several comments about Wylan's schedule and Wylan understood he was helping, making sure Wylan memorized his schedule and knew where to go.   
  
High school, Wylan quickly learned, was exhausting. He was issued four textbooks—English, civics, physics, and calculus. English and civics both made his head spin with the sheer volume of _copy this off the board_ or _read these pages this weekend_ . Wylan's heart was racing by the time lunch rolled around. Even physics, which had gone fairly well, wasn't enough to calm the murmurs in his head that _he couldn't do this_ .   
  
"It's going to be fine." Jesper sat with him at lunch, cheerfully demolishing a gray hamburger.   
  
Wylan just poked at the food on his styrofoam tray. "Do you think Genya would pack a lunch for me if I asked?"   
  
"You're seventeen. Pack your own lunch."   
  
"Sixteen," Wylan corrected without looking up. His birthday wasn't for two more weeks. He bit hesitantly into a kernel of corn. It _squelched_ . Corn was most definitely not supposed to squelch. Jesper had a point, though; Wylan resolved to pack his own lunch.   
  
"Can I have yours?"   
  
He slid his tray across the table. Jesper was always hungry and Wylan had no intention of eating any of that mess.   
  
"Oh, here." Jesper wiped his hands on the less-than-tissue-thin napkin and handed some papers to Wylan. "Notes for English and civics. You're okay for physics, right?"   
  
Wylan looked at the papers, stunned. Jesper had promised he would help, but Wylan didn't expect _this_ . How had Jesper even found time for this? Wylan could barely keep up with everything their teacher was saying, all the names thrown out and looming book reports that made his insides knot up in fear.   
  
"Wy? Hey?"   
  
"What? Um, y-yeah, sorry. I'm fine for physics. Thank you," Wylan said, tucking the notes into his binder. Maybe he could talk to Miss Moore about them. At home, he would need Genya or David's help—even though he was almost seventeen, there was no way Wylan could read this.   
  
Jesper took the chocolate milk carton from his second lunch tray and set it in front of Wylan. "Here. You need at least some lunch."   
  
"I just didn't expect you to do that for me," Wylan explained. "Thanks."   
  
"It's no problem."   
  
Maybe not, Wylan thought, struggling to open the milk carton. But it still meant the world to him. It confirmed his suspicions about Jesper, too; it had always seemed obvious to Wylan that Jesper was smart and could do well in school if he really tried. Two sets of comprehensive notes from one class? Jesper could _definitely_ do well in school if he tried. Maybe Wylan could help encourage him.   
  
If the first half of Wylan's day was tough, there weren't words for the second half.   
  
Miss Moore took him out of calculus. Wylan had identified math as his best subject, the one he could most easily catch up in, so he missed half the period to sit in her classroom and struggle through the alphabet. Even though she was encouraging and went carefully at Wylan's pace, he couldn't help being embarrassed, like he was confirming all his father's worst insults by struggling through something kindergarteners recited easily.   
  
He made a complete fool of himself in P.E., red-faced and panting after warm-ups. Apparently the teacher did not believe in an easy first day. Their first unit, he announced, was football. Wylan wanted to whimper while most of the guys whooped. He proved completely inept. They ran "simple" exercises, but the ball was, well, a football. It couldn't be tossed like a regular ball. The guy Wylan had been paired with grew increasingly frustrated with him and when the last throw hit Wylan hard in the stomach, he was pretty sure it had been intentional. He stared at the other boy, furious and unable to do a damn thing about it.   
  
He probably shouldn't have been surprised when he was told on the way back to the locker room, "Hey, wrong way. Girls change over there."   
  
Wylan didn't respond. It wasn't the first time, but rather than being numb to it, he hurt even more. He shouldn't have cared, but he did. It was like a well inside him filled with every comment made by his father and everyone at Love Twice Willed.   
  
_A boy like you will never be a man._   
  
He hated his father for saying it and himself for believing it.   
  
He hated P.E. for existing.   
  
Jan had been cruel, Wylan understood that now, but his friends had not. When they laughed at Wylan, it was because they didn't know, because Jan made them think a joke was good-natured.   
  
A group of boys from his P.E. class laughed at the implication that he was a girl. They wanted Wylan to be acutely aware of his masculinity failure. For a moment his muscles went tight. He saw red, had the distinct desire to punch hard into their faces… but he knew he would only wind up beaten to a sorry pulp. And he didn't want to be violent. The 'not being violent' thing first, he reminded himself.   
  
By the time he arrived in the art classroom, Wylan felt like he had been battered and dunked by an angry river. He knew the feeling all too well. If this was high school, Wylan wasn't sure his father had been _entirely_ cruel. Cruel, yes. But maybe just a bit merciful for keeping him away from it.   
  
He took a seat in the back of the art classroom. It wasn't like a normal classroom with the expected individual chairs with attached desks. Instead, there were taller desks all clustered together, a promising spread of art supplies in the middle of the table. Wylan picked a seat at the back corner.   
  
The class turned out to be only ten students: eight girls, Wylan, and a boy he recognized from his P.E. class. Wylan turned just slightly away from the boy. He had been good at football, something Wylan now knew to be wary of.   
  
"Okay, good afternoon, everyone!" the teacher said, passing out sheets of paper—blank, Wylan noted with relief. "Good afternoon, let's get started! For today, I want to get to know each of your styles, so help yourself to materials from the center of the table. There are no limits. Draw what you want to draw, create what you want to create."   
  
Wylan reached for a couple of graphite pencils that were a bit too far away. A girl who had taken a seat opposite him pushed the pencils over. She looked a little younger than Wylan, her face still round with puppy fat. She had glasses, freckles, and a rhinestone barrette in her hair. She gave him a quick smile, and turned to her own work.   
  
He looked at the paper, pure potential, and thought for a moment. Then he began to draw.   
  
Officially, his muse was Jesper. (Wylan had _not_ repeated that.) It was better that he didn't do too much Jesper-drawing in this class, though. Instead he thought about Genya. She was smart and nice, but where she seemed most herself was sewing. She had a knack for it. Her business was tailoring, but she did decorations as well. He drew her hands the way they looked on an embroidery hoop, the curve of her fingers along the wood, the way she held her needle…   
  
The picture wasn't great. Wylan could see it—the trouble with hands was proportionality. He had made a few segments of her fingers wrong. The cloth didn't drape right. Still, it wasn't _bad_ and it wasn't like he planned to show her the picture or anything…   
  
"Oh my god!"   
  
Wylan startled. One of the girls had gone to the counter at the back of the room for more supplies; now she was leaning over his shoulder.   
  
"Hey, come look at his picture!" she called. She clearly only meant one girl, but others craned their necks, curious at the spectacle.   
  
"It was just a sketch," Wylan said, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He wanted to cover the paper, but all the attention made him freeze. They were going to laugh at him. They were going to _show_ his picture and laugh at it, they were going to _tell people_ ...   
  
"That's awesome," a second girl said.   
  
"Lemme see—wow, you're really talented!"   
  
Wylan's anxiety ebbed just slightly, replaced with confusion. Didn't they realize he had made her left index finger too long in the middle and her right pinkie curved all wrong? But as the other students clustered around him, ignoring the teacher's instruction to go back to their seats, no one had a single negative word to say. In fact, they genuinely seemed to like his drawing. Wylan was blushing for an entirely different reason when the teacher finally managed to shepherd her class back to their seats.   
  
The girl across from Wylan, the one with the rhinestone barrette who had passed him his pencils earlier, asked, "Who is she?"   
  
"My foster mom."   
  
"You should give her the picture."   
  
Wylan shook his head. "Maybe when I do one where I _don't_ draw her fingers all crooked."   
  
So, in the end, school wasn't awful. P.E. was awful, reading was awful, school lunches were definitely awful. But some of the people there were okay and calculus seemed very promising.   
  
Jesper gave Wylan a ride home. He was working that afternoon, so he couldn't stay, but they had a few minutes together. Wylan wanted to get closer, to kiss Jesper when he parked or to lean against him when he was driving—though that probably wasn't safe, was it?—but he knew better. Secret agent boyfriends, he reminded himself.   
  
The first thing Wylan did when he got home was take a packet of cookies from the cupboard and eat four of them.   
  
"Usually I only see David doing that," Genya said, "and his vice is butter cookies dipped in chocolate with rainbow nonpareils. A friend in Los Angeles overnights a box of them from a deli on Fairfax for David's birthday and Hanukkah."   
  
That made perfect sense, Wylan thought. David had made a few offhand remarks about the tastes of different colors that explained more about his very specific peculiarities.   
  
"If you hate school—"   
  
"I don't," Wylan assured her quickly, realizing now what she meant. He wasn't eating for comfort. "Just the food. Maybe I could pack my own lunch from now on?"   
  
"Sure. So it wasn't too bad?"   
  
He shook his head. "Not at all. I have three classes with Jesper."   
  
Maybe that shouldn't have been his priority… but he had _three classes_ with Jesper!   
  
Wylan did his homework quietly in the corner of Genya's shop, taking breaks to help when he needed time. He couldn't sew well enough to help, but he could tidy and iron.   
  
At the end of the day, Wylan could only pinpoint one feeling school gave him for absolute certain: exhaustion. It was barely dark out when he curled up under the covers and let his thoughts drift away. His last conscious thought was that school had been… okay. That maybe, just maybe, he could do this.   
  
Maybe he could be normal.


	24. Volunteering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter includes discussion of a sexual relationship with a major age gap. Nothing graphic, but the nature of the relationship is clear.
> 
> This chapter also deals with the 2020 election. Everything stated about the current administration is true (except the bit about Van Eck's personal life, but as far as policies go it's true).

KAZ

  
  
In sixth grade, Kaz's teacher told him to stand up and pledge allegiance along with everyone else. Kaz refused, his scrawny 11-year-old butt planted firmly in his chair. It was a Monday and that weekend in the library he had learned about the Trail of Tears. The numbers presented were that approximately 4,000 of 15,000 Cherokee died. The total figure of deaths across all tribes was larger, the book reported, 13,000 to 18,000, but it was the number of Cherokee that stuck with Kaz because of the context. 1 in 4. At the time, he still thought of 4 as the number of his family. He remembered losing his mother and father and brother and it sent a shiver through him like he might hurl right there in the library.    
  
The numbers stuck with him. So did the cross-reference. "Indian removal." 1 in 4, and that was only from a part of this  _ policy _ , this official, overt government action.   
  
Kaz refused to stand up and recite the pledge with everyone else on Monday morning, not to the country that had taken land that way. It was outright theft. The more he learned, and Kaz did learn more that day, the more he realized that the history of the United States was the history of abuse for  _ stuff _ . Indian removal for land. Slavery for money.   
  
His teacher called him out, but Kaz refused to budge.   
  
"This country gave you a roof over your head and the clothes on your back," said the teacher, and Kaz was prepared to say they took those things from Native Americans, but the teacher continued, " _ you _ in particular, Rietveld."   
  
Kaz did get up then. He surged out of his seat and tackled his teacher, burning with righteous fury at the man who decided to humiliate him for being a foster child, to shame him that he was a ward of the state and use it to control him. He wanted the man dead.   
  
He was 11 and not very big or strong. It wasn't a victory. It was a lesson.    
  
7 years later, Kaz approached his apartment door carrying two cardboard boxes. The door was ajar, light and noise escaping. Nina, Jesper, and Wylan were playing slapjack. Kaz would readily admit that both Jesper and Wylan had become more tolerable over the past months.   
  
"Pizza," he said, nudging the door closed with one booted foot.   
  
He set the boxes on the counter, taking up about two-thirds of his kitchenette counter space, and took plates out of the cupboard.   
  
"Kaz," Nina said, her voice heavy with meaning.   
  
"Nina," Kaz said, his voice heavy with mockery.   
  
"You bought plates!"   
  
"I won't have you idiots making a mess of my table," Kaz explained, helping himself to two slices of pizza.   
  
Jesper peered into the box and groaned. "Pineapple?"   
  
With a shrug, Kaz told him, "So pick it off." They hadn't ground up the pineapple and put it into the sauce. After a moment he added, "Second one's cheese."   
  
Jesper and Wylan were audibly relieved.   
  
The four of them clustered at the table with their unmatched plates, drinking from unmatch cups. Kaz had invited them over for the last night of the Republican National Convention. They were not watching it on TV—he didn't have a TV. They were not listening to it on someone's phone. They were simply here, together, preparing for battle.   
  
"I contacted the closest campaign office, we can start on Saturday," Kaz said.   
  
"You signed us up for volunteering?" Nina asked.   
  
"We're all going, it's only practical for us to carpool." Looking from one to the next of his small crew, Kaz said, "You are serious, aren't you? You didn't think we would commiserate in private and cast our three measly votes and whine like children?"    
  
Kaz expected Nina and Jesper to vote, as would he. Wylan was only 16, 17 by election day, and thus excused. He could make his contributions in other arenas. He was the only one who met Kaz's eyes the whole time. Jesper and Nina, it seemed, had not come with a strategy in mind. That was what tonight meant to Kaz. The campaigns were official. The fight was on to wrest its last shreds of decency to the forefront of the American consciousness.   
  
Eyes boring into Wylan's, daring him, Kaz asked, "What are you willing to do to stop him winning reelection?"   
  
"Anything," Wylan said.   
  
"Wy," Jesper said, "careful what you promise him."   
  
"I'm not some fairy tale," Kaz said. "A promise is only words. What they've done, and will continue to do if they're not stopped, is considerably more."   
  
"He's right." Wylan was considerably gentler about it, but Kaz trusted the mettle in him. "We have to take action to keep this from happening again."   
  
Nina cleared her throat. "So," she said, pointedly changing the subject, "now that all our dicks have been measured! How's school?"   
  
"It's only been a week," Jesper said with a shrug.    
  
It had, but although the lanky boy was as twitchy as ever, it was his never-sit-still twitching. It was not the desperate shiftiness Kaz had seen in him last year. His eyes were clear, too. With Kaz and Nina graduated, the entire school being a collective douche machine about Jesper's sexuality, and Jesper's absurdly high need for positive engagement with his peers, Kaz had recognized there was a high possibility of relapse.   
  
"Wylan has groupies."   
  
"Groupies?" Nina asked. "I want to hear about these groupies."   
  
Wylan's mouth was full, but his eyes popped. He hurriedly swallowed and said, "I do not have groupies!"   
  
"They're groupies. It's these four girls from his art class, they sit with us at lunch."   
  
"They're nice," Wylan objected.   
  
"I didn't say they weren't nice. They're fine. But they definitely picked our table because they like your art."   
  
"People are going to figure out you're gay," Kaz said.   
  
He was surprised to suddenly be faced with three identical expressions of outrage and disbelief. As satisfied as Kaz felt to know that Jesper was doing well, he could easily enough read the situation through the eyes of their peers.   
  
He just shrugged. "They are. He spends all his time with girls and Jesper. Here that's basically a pride flag."   
  
"Jesper's not gay," Wylan said.   
  
"Anyone at that school who appreciates the distinction is closeted," Kaz replied. "As far as they're concerned, Jesper's attracted to other guys, so he's gay. Stop expecting sophistication from these people. I'm not saying this to be cruel. I'm telling you something you should already be aware of."   
  
"Weren't we talking about politics?" Jesper asked.   
  
Wylan said, "Yeah. Come on, Kaz. Tell me more about how we're going to wreck my dad's career."   
_   
_

* * *

_   
_ WYLAN   
  
  


Nina pulled the car door to with a frustrated sigh. " _ But I like Van Eck, _ " she mimicked, not to anyone in particular. Apparently this visit hadn't gone well, either. Jesper, Kaz, Nina, and Wylan were volunteering, knocking on doors to encourage people to get out and vote, raising awareness of the issues, and overall trying to get Iowa Democrats to turn out in force. It turned out that a surprising number of registered Democrats supported the current administration anyway.   
  
The houses were so far apart in this part of the country, it didn't make sense to walk. They would have spent all day and barely knocked on ten doors. Instead they piled into Nina's car and made a game of it. At each house they would flip a coin to determine who approached the door.    
  
Wylan supposed he did well enough knocking on doors. He did not lose his temper, and he didn't stammer often. It wasn't his activity of choice, but he liked being involved, and he even liked being squished into the backseat next to Jesper or Nina. If Wylan and Kaz happened to be in the backseat at the same time, Wylan carefully kept his distance.   
  
Wylan and Kaz were both in the backseat now.   
  
"Another fan of Daddy Dearest," Kaz remarked as he pulled a second door shut. "If only we could discredit him somehow."   
  
"Leave him alone, Kaz," Jesper objected, starting the car.   
  
Nina read directions off her phone—"Gotta love farm country, go five miles straight."   
  
"I don't do anything straight," Jesper said   
  
"Go five miles like a raging, flamboyant pansexual," Nina amended.   
  
Jesper drove.   
  
Kaz's dark eyes hadn't left Wylan. Wylan shifted, tugging at his collar. He told himself that even Kaz Brekker had his limits. They were all going to spend the rest of the afternoon in the car together, knocking on doors for the campaign. Kaz wouldn't make it awkward for—   
  
"Embezzlement," Kaz guessed.   
  
Wylan had addressed these sorts of questions before. "I don't know anything about the businesses, Kaz. I know he didn't divest, but that's public knowledge. Neither did the President."   
  
Kaz gave a disgusted sigh. "You're useless. There must be someone better. After eight years, you'd think he would have a girlfriend at least."   
  
Wylan was not useless. Normally he would have said as much, but what Kaz said next left Wylan intensely aware of what he did not want to say. He looked away from Kaz. His fingers drummed on his kneecaps.   
  
"Oh," Kaz said.   
  
"Kaz, stop picking on Jesper's boyfriend."   
  
"Van Eck has a girlfriend," Kaz said.   
  
Nina raised her eyebrows. "Is it someone scandalous?" she asked.   
  
"I never said he has a girlfriend!" Wylan objected.   
  
Kaz shrugged. "You can't keep a secret. You didn't need to say."   
  
Jesper parked the car. "Here we are," he announced, "Wylan and I will get this one."   
  
Grateful for the rescue, Wylan nearly fell out of the car. He couldn't help thinking it was strange. Whenever his father ran for office, Wylan was trotted out like a prop, his appearance given a heartless evaluation. His clothes were judged for suitability, usually he passed that test. It was always subtle of course, but before appearing on camera he had faint makeup painted on him, blush and something on his lips, concealer if he was having an especially bad breakout—and it was not put in such forgiving tones. His father's affected concern for him was for the public, not his team, who thought nothing of matter-of-factly referring to a 13-year-old as "the worst pizza face situation I've ever seen".    
  
Being beside his father was about appearance—appearing attractive, appearing happy, appearing supportive. Wylan grew up learning to hide his tiredness, his frustration, his discomfort. He learned how to appear what his father, what the voters wanted, and as much as he hated lying, he loved his father's approval. He loved Jan's arm around his shoulders, holding Wylan close. For the cameras, sure, but there had been something genuine in it, too.    
  
Hadn't there?   
  
Now he was voluntarily spending his weekend knocking on doors, reminding people to get out and vote and encouraging them to vote for the candidate who planned to implement military housing offices on every base so service-men and -women weren't subjected to unsanitary living conditions; a real corporate tax rate of 7% that would drastically increase revenue and erase corporate exemptions; and a national minimum wage of $15.    
  
Maybe it was because he wanted to be here. Maybe it was because he could think of absolutely nothing he would rather do with his Saturday than spend it crammed into Nina’s technically-it’s-clean car with his friends. (Unless, of course, Rhodri had been allowed to join them, but Nina refused to have the dog in her car, and Jesper’s truck couldn’t fit all the humans in the cab.)

"Kaz can be…"

"I know," Wylan said. He had met plenty of browbeaters before. "He’ll make a hell of a politician. And I mean  _ Hell _ . It’s just weird to see in someone our age."

Jesper nodded.

They climbed two steps onto someone’s well-kept front porch. They had a list of names, so they knew they were here looking for Mia Jenkins, registered Democrat. Jesper knocked. As they waited, Wylan took what he hoped was a subtle look around. He still loved seeing other people’s houses. What stood out in this one was the planters, all sorts of adapted things: old paint tins, a watering can, even—Wylan snickered.

"Is that a  _ toilet _ ?" he asked, trying to be subtle.

Unfortunately he asked just as the door was opened, and it was the homeowner who replied: "Broken one, but yes, it is."

Wylan’s face flooded and he stammered something about it being creative.

"That’s my husband. Nothing he can’t plant an herb in. So what can I do for you boys?"

The woman who had answered the door had streaks of gray in her dark hair and a serious set to her shoulders. She didn’t seem angry, but she didn’t seem like someone to cross, either. She peered past them at the car, where Nina and Kaz were bickering.

Jesper delivered the speech: they were here to talk to Mia Jenkins about her vote in November.

The woman shook her head.

"I’m her mother. Mia’s at school," she said, her voice shifting from wary to chilled, "but I’ll tell her you came by."

Wylan doubted she meant that.

"Can’t imagine how anyone would vote for that woman—and after what her running mate’s said about the Vice President, after all that poor man’s been through? He’s lost his whole family, you know. Shameless. Well, you’re young, you’ll understand when you’re older. You have a nice day."

She shut the door in their faces. Wylan resisted the urge to kick one of her stupid recycled planters. It was a distant urge, anyway, his mind fixed on what she said.  _ What _ had her running mate said about his father?

They headed back to the car and climbed in, shaking their heads. Nina had already taken the driver’s seat. Kaz was in the passenger seat. Ten minutes ago, Wylan would have been thrilled to have the backseat just for himself and Jesper. That was all the invitation Jesper ever needed. Now Wylan’s attention was elsewhere.

"What was she talking about?" he asked. "She mentioned my father, what was that about?"

Jesper cleared his throat and looked away, toying with the cuffs of his shirt. Nina was suddenly very focused on driving.

Kaz said, "This morning they brought up your name. Your father’s been running on his usual platform of religious bigotry, but he hasn’t mentioned family. Our VP did. He asked where you were."

"Why would he…"

Wylan didn’t finish the question. The world lurched, and not from Nina’s brake-happy driving. He felt his breakfast threatening to resurface and bent, putting his face in his hands. Jesper rubbed his back. The nausea should have ebbed, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t ebbing. His name was going to be back in the news. What if Jan came looking for Wylan? What if he sent him back to that place? What if he made him go home again?

From the front seat, Kaz cleared his throat. "If only," he said, "there were something to distract him."

"Shut up, Kaz," Jesper said.

"I’m not throwing this girl under the bus," Wylan added.

He only heard his mistake when Kaz tilted his head, interested.

"Girl?" Kaz repeated.

Wylan sighed. He might as well come out with it, then, he’d already all but admitted it: "My father has a girlfriend who’s less than half his age. She’s 19. It’s gross, but not illegal. She’s a nice girl, Kaz, I don’t want you dragging her into this."

"Either she dragged herself into this or your father’s a rapist."

"My father is not a rapist!" Wylan snapped. His father was many bad things and Wylan would allow him to be called an asshole, a bastard, or a bad parent. But Jan Van Eck was not a rapist.

Kaz shrugged. "Then she’s fair game. She knew what she was getting into."

Wylan thought about Alys—silly, cheerful Alys, who didn’t always realize when she was being inappropriate, but who had always been kind to Wylan. Sure, she would come downstairs for breakfast wearing her underwear and one of his father’s shirts like it was normal, but she asked what he was working on and cooed over how clever he must have been. Wylan had tried to be rude to her, at first. She hadn’t noticed, though. She had kept on being nice to him, and Wylan gave in and treated her decently. He had even asked her not to show up in the kitchen half-naked and she’d done it—not that showing up in his father’s bathrobe was a massive improvement, but she meant well. That was Alys. A kind, dim, well-intentioned girl.  
  
"Forget it," Wylan said, shaking his head. "I told you, I won't involve her. She's an innocent girl."   
  
"Innocent girls are already involved. And innocent boys, and men and women. Your father's work is denying them access to healthcare, separating children from parents at the border, and pissing away tax dollars to give the super-rich those extra millions. You think innocents aren't being involved when schools are underfunded and drinking water is polluted?"   
  
Wylan basically agreed with Kaz's principles. He hadn't liked seeing funding stripped from the EPA and public schools. Kaz was tough to agree with, though. He made arguments Wylan agreed with but his tone was so harsh Wylan didn't want to agree with him.    
  
And he wasn't willing to give up Alys's name, either.   
  
"How are we better if we do the same?" Wylan asked.    
  
"He's right," Nina said.   
  
"Whose side are you on, Zenik?" Kaz asked.   
  
"Well, right now, I'm on the side of the woman involved. This won't tarnish Van Eck's name, it'll just ruin hers like it did to Monica Lewinsky. You would ruin this girl's life, Kaz."   
  
"You're both too narrow-minded. When your opponent plays as dirty as ours does, you have to get a little mud on your hands. Sacrifices have to be made. What’s her name, Wylan?"   
  
The worst part was, again—he was right. Wylan knew how dirty his father could play, and the name at the top of the ticket, that one was even worse. They had to lose. He just wasn't willing to do it at her expense.   
  
Wylan shook his head.   
  
"I thought you were willing to do anything."   
  
" _ I _ am," Wylan said. "She isn't."   
  
"Sounds like she'll do anything," Jesper chimed in, "if she's doing Jan Van Eck."   
  
Nina laughed. Wylan groaned.   
  
Kaz scoffed. "I hope your morals and libidos comfort you when we lose this election. What's her  _ name _ ?"

"Shut up," Jesper said.

"Odd name," Nina commented.

"Is it?" Jesper asked. "I’ve met plenty of girls named Shut Up, almost as many as Fuck Off! Before you," he amended hastily, giving Wylan a hug that turned into a half-strangle when the car hit a rut. "Damn, Nina, watch the road or let me drive!"

"Sorry!"

"Anyway, the news will move on," Jesper promised. "Just watch. The President will say something stupid like that he invented squirrels and people will forget all about it."

The news didn’t move on.

News coverage remained fixed on the election. One candidate talked about issues. One talked trash. Though the President continued to say ridiculous, obscene, and racist things to large crowds, it was past the point anyone felt the need to report on it.    
  
What was deemed press-worthy was reported that Thursday night.

"I think it's a legitimate question, because we're talking about the welfare of a child."

She sounded compassionate. She sounded like she really cared. Wylan watched the news from the couch, Genya beside him, holding his hand so she knew he was there. He wondered if anyone would care if they knew the truth, if they knew he was a moron and a homo. Most of Wylan rejected the ideas, but seeing his father on the news lately had stirred up bad memories.

"Jan Van Eck has always run as a family man. Four years ago, he defined himself to the American people as the single father of a thirteen-year-old boy, and we all saw that boy next to him on the campaign trail and at rallies. He has always kept his son close and public. If Wylan Van Eck wants out of the spotlight, fine. That's his right. But Jan Van Eck cannot expect the shift in his platform to go unnoticed, and so it's not an unreasonable question. Is your son okay, Mister Van Eck?"

The program cut back to the anchor, who wrapped up the story effectively. For Wylan it continued to linger as a chipper jingle advertised cat food.

Genya turned off the TV.

"Are you okay?"

Wylan nodded. He was fine. This rushing, numb, dizzy sensation… it was a sort of fine. It didn't hurt, so it was fine.

"Are you?" Wylan asked, knowing this was just what David had feared. He didn't want Genya to get attached to someone who would leave and break her heart.

"I don't want to lose you, but if you change your mind, I'll understand."

"I won't," he promised. "I don't want to go back."

Genya squeezed his hand and he silently willed her not to let go.


	25. Future Plans

JESPER

The campaigns had been fairly quiet for a couple of days and Kaz wasn't with them to knock doors that Saturday. Kaz was Jesper's friend and Wylan wasn't a replacement, but he did cause fewer sparks with Nina... though enough time with Jesper and Nina seemed to be rubbing off on Wylan. One might almost call him assertive. 

Today that assertiveness was being tested, though.

"Come on, you have to play," Nina said.

"I don't know these songs," Wylan protested. 

"Who doesn't know REO Speedwagon?"

"Me, Wylan Riley. Nice to meet you."

They were taking turns doing their very best radio karaoke, and Jesper, in his humble opinion, had just absolutely killed it with 'Keep on Loving You'. There wasn't anything modern out here. Music, fashion, science textbooks—one made do. Well, Nina insisted one made do. Jesper didn’t object to a rock ballad now and again, and happened to think that of the many, many images of Wylan he had found on Google, he looked cutest half-swamped in one of Jesper’s flannel shirts.

When they both showed up in flannel that morning, Nina had rolled her eyes hard and pretended to pass out.

"You did this to him," Nina accused Jesper now. "Plaid shirts and sass."

"Yeah, you had no influence on the sass front. That’s all me."

"Credit where credit is due, Jesper Llewellyn."

"Don’t call me—that’s not even how you  _ say _ it, you New World philistine, it’s  _ Llewellyn _ ," Jesper pronounced his middle name properly the way his da would, with the almost guttural ch-sound at the start. "You've heard Da say my name, you  _ know this _ . Anyway, what would you sing, gorgeous?"

"Well, I—"

"You’re not ‘gorgeous’, you’re ‘hot stuff’."

Nina nodded. "Acceptable."

Jesper turned around in the passenger seat. Wylan was almost sulky.

"You really don’t like the ‘80s classics, huh?"

"I can’t sing."

"I sang," Nina pointed out.

"Yeah, wouldn’t call that singing," Jesper retorted, and Nina laughed.

They were on their way back from knocking on doors. It had gone well enough, though without Kaz, they didn’t bother flipping a coin. Nina and Jesper took turns knocking on doors with Wylan. He was political gold: a well-spoken, mild-mannered white boy with an open, honest face, who could discuss theology with folks who worried about voting in a Christian way but not seem condescending. Unlike Nina and Jesper, Wylan’s faith was genuine. It made him seem trustworthy. That was probably just what his father thought, too, which was why Jesper asked if Wylan wouldn’t rather do something else. He didn’t have to be a political tool.

Now, Jesper asked, "Come on, will you sing something? Please? For me." He was not certain why he wanted this so badly, maybe to have Wylan be a part of things, maybe simple curiosity. Either way, he did not want to let it drop.

Wylan hesitated. Then he began to sing.

Jesper knew the song, an old Anglican hymn full of whole notes and climbing pitches, but he had never actually  _ liked _ it. He didn’t dislike it, either. Mostly he didn’t care about it, not until it was flowing in a perfect tenor from the prettiest boy this side of the Mississippi. The music seemed to swell to fill the car. Nina turned off the radio, and Jesper barely noticed the sound of the wheels turning beneath them.

When Wylan was done, they all sat in silence for a moment. A blush crept up his face and Jesper couldn’t fathom  _ why _ .

"Oh my god," Nina said.

"Seriously," Jesper agreed. "Wylan, that’s…"

Nina smacked Jesper. "You let me sing in front of him?" she demanded.

"Ow! I told you, it’s not singing!  _ That _ was singing! Yours is…. caterwauling! Wylan, that was amazing."

Wylan blushed and gave a little smile, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive.

Nina drove them back to Zoya’s to pick up the truck, and Jesper gave Wylan a ride to Genya and David’s place.

"You know, I don’t have to go right home. You could invite me in."

"Do you want to come in?"

"What a surprise, I’d love to!"

Wylan greeted Genya with a hug and David with a fist-bump—David was particular about hugs and handshakes are terribly unsanitary—and disappeared into his bedroom with Jesper. Jesper had just said hello to Genya and David. It was strange, he thought, he had known them for far longer, but Wylan knew them better. It made perfect sense, of course, Wylan lived with them, but it was still a nice sort of strange to see Wylan making his own space.

Speaking of space…

"Are those glow stars?" Jesper asked, peering up at the ceiling in Wylan’s room.

"They’re new," Wylan said.

They were glow stars.

Wylan's bedroom was tidy, no dirty clothes anywhere but the hamper, bed neatly made—the opposite of Jesper's bedroom. There was a sketchbook on the little desk, but Jesper hadn't talked Wylan into giving him a peek. Jesper had been in this room enough times to feel comfortable sitting on the striped sheets. He gave Wylan a suggestive looked and patted the bed next to him.

They didn't touch in public, not how they wanted to. They didn't hold hands or kiss. They could jostle or high five like straight boys, but they didn't borrow trouble. When they were alone, it was like a dam broke. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. They made out on Wylan's twin bed, Jesper's back to the wall and his arm around Wylan. It wasn't much space for two people. He had knocked Wylan off the bed once. Wylan hadn't been hurt and they had both laughed about it, but Jesper preferred to keep Wylan next to him. So now he held him close.

They only kissed, kept their clothes on and hands above the waist, but kept at it until they were both breathless. Once he'd caught enough air for it, Wylan said, "I wish you could stay the night."

"Me too."

He just didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it required thinking about it, and that led to the realization that this couldn't last. Here? Small town Iowa? There were a lot worse things than being tripped in the hallway and an interracial gay couple would find them firsthand. Maybe if they were in Des Moines—or better yet, Chicago…

Jesper pulled back enough to look Wylan in the eyes as he asked, "Why are you ashamed of everything you're good at?"

Wylan looked away. Jesper considered saying  _ my eyes are up here, _ but opted against it in a serious moment.

"You don't understand."

"I know," Jesper said, "but I want to. Is it about your father?"

Wylan nodded. "Maybe. It's what he does. He takes what matters most and uses it to hurt you. It's better not to care. It's easier to just… not have anything he can take."

Jesper stroked Wylan's cheek gently. "I won't let him hurt you anymore."

Wylan brought Jesper's hand to his mouth and kissed his palm. It wasn't what Jesper hoped for, it wasn't blind faith in him, but even Jesper wasn't sure he would do what he promised—protect against the Vice President of the United States.   
  
"Don't you do the same thing?" Wylan asked. "You act like the stuff you're good at doesn't count, but you're good at sports, you're a good friend, you get things done when you set your mind to them." Jesper was about to say those didn't count, and maybe Wylan read it because he added, "You pretend you're not, but you're brilliant. And you're a really, really good kisser."   
  
"I'm the only person you've ever kissed."   
  
"So you're saying I should kiss some other guys so I can compliment you properly?"   
  
"If you're not getting enough attention, gorgeous, we can fix that."   
  
"We can?"   
  
"Mhm."   
  
Wylan grinned and Jesper suspected he had created a monster.   
  


* * *

  
  
Jesper was late getting home that night. He noticed it with a twist of guilt; it was after eight and he hadn't called. It was the same curfew he had when he was twelve. Part of Jesper resented it, but a bigger part knew he had worried his da and that worry was solidly built on a foundation of Jesper's bad decisions. He was still peeing in a cup every month, was curfew worth arguing over?   
  
Rhodri leapt on Jesper the moment he walked through the door, panting happily at him. Jesper scratched his ears.   
  
"Hey, boy. Sorry I'm late, Da. I lost track of time."   
  
"That's all right." He said it lightly, but there was an undertone of nascent trust that Jesper both heard and felt.    
  
Colm turned off the TV as Jesper came in, but Jesper noticed what had been on. He already planned to text Nina later that his da was watching Rachel Maddow.   
  
"Are you hungry?"   
  
"Always."   
  
Jesper didn't catch the full implication of that question until his da went to the kitchen, Jesper at his heels.   
  
"You didn't have to wait for me."   
  
"Didn't mind."   
  
They sat at the kitchen table. Genya had invited him to stay. Now he was glad he said no, it was bad enough to think of Da sitting alone at the table, worse to think of him  _ waiting _ . Rhodri pulled Jesper out of his thoughts, setting his shaggy head on Jesper's thigh and looking up at him with big, imploring eyes. Jesper ate with one hand and petted the dog with the other. He hadn't anticipated how much attention a dog needed. Not that he minded.   
  
Jesper recounted his day in broad strokes. He talked about a few of the people he, Nina, and Wylan met. Not that it was a competition but they were crushing it on doors-per-volunteer, relative to their working in a rural area. He liked spending time with Nina, too. He saw Wylan at school five days a week, but since Nina graduated, she and Jesper of course did not see each other much.    
  
Colm waited until Jesper was finished to raise a serious subject.   
  
"Now, I don't want you thinking there's more to it than I'm telling you," Colm began, then cleared his throat. He retrieved some paperwork from a drawer. "I just want you thinking about it. You don't need to make any decisions now."   
  
Jesper looked closer. It was a course catalog and pamphlet for the Des Moines Area Community College.   
  
"They have online courses, I bookmarked them in the catalog there. Now, they said you can use it to get your GPA up for applying to universities."   
  
Jesper knew those things. He knew DMACC had online courses and he knew about transferring to university. He was just surprised to be faced with that information at the dinner table like this. Ever since he did the math and realized the only way Da could pay for rehab was to drain what he had saved for Jesper's college, Jesper had just assumed his future was here. Did he want that? Did it matter? He hadn't seen choices.   
  
"Da…"   
  
"You don't need to decide now," he said again.   
  
"I don't—I don't know," Jesper said. This wasn't just a huge question, it was an offer of trust. It was his da saying he might, in the near future, be comfortable with the idea of Jesper leaving.   
  
Was Jesper comfortable with the idea of his da alone? He didn't know. There was an awful lot he didn't know, but the thought of his da coming in from the fields to an empty house, sitting down to dinner alone—his da having no one to see off to the bus every morning, no one to talk to him—just being alone out here. That thought hurt. He wasn't sure he wanted to stay forever. He wasn't sure he could bear the thought of Da alone, either.   
  
"Anyway," Colm said, taking the dishes to the sink, "it's not forever. If you leave, you'll visit."   
  
"Yeah. You're not rid of me that easily."


	26. A Simple Errand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter and a few coming chapters, Wylan reads and writes. I researched as much as I could on decoding strategies and tried to make clear that is exactly what he's doing, decoding. I intended to portray both that Wylan can be taught (screw you, Jan Van Eck) and that it takes tremendous effort on his part. Even when he reads a word that would be simple for most of us, it takes a lot of hard work from Wylan and his progress, while small in comparison, is major for him and extremely hard won. This is a really fine line and hopefully the impact but not magic of appropriate, supportive interventions was clear. As was the fact that dyslexia and dysgraphia don't mean someone is stupid. 
> 
> In conclusion, if these chapters cause anyone offense because of that, I'm truly sorry.

WYLAN

Genya only needed two things. Wylan stared hard at the note she had given him. He asked for this. When she asked him to run down to the market, Wylan, flush with inexplicable confidence, asked her to write down what she needed. It was a practical but safe experiment—Jesper was working today and he would help out if Wylan couldn't read the words.

He put his finger under the first letter of the first word. Genya had written them spaced out nicely to help him focus on one sound at a time. She helped him at home. In the afternoon, before David came home, she sat with him at the kitchen table and practiced letters and sounds.

She knew.

She knew how he read, how to write for him.

This was a d. No… or a… b? Or d. Wylan stepped to the side of the pavement, then closed his eyes. He was back in Miss Moore's classroom, hands on the desk, both thumbs up. She touched his left forearm—"a,"—his left hand—"b,"'—the space between—"c,"—his right hand—"d." The first letter Genya had written had a shape like his left hand. b. b, buh. 

The next letter he could picture best in bright red chalk on Zoya's driveway, sandwiched between an orange letter and a green one. It was in the middle of a long game of hopscotch. "m-o-t-h-e-r-f-u-c-k-e-r!" Nina took a big jump off the grid and smiled at them with a self-satisfied, "Motherfucker! Your turn, Jesper!"

b, u…

"Like a cross with the Jesus peeled off," Jesper had said, much to his father's chagrin. That hadn't helped, Wylan told him. It didn't help him know the sound. Actually, he was really bad at that one. He always wanted to make it the 'puh' sound since it was a plus sign.

The letter in light blue, a bigger square with 'th'.

Buther? Butter. Context clues, it was butter. Right? That was something Genya might need from the market.

The next word started with the letter Wylan knew because it was in the same hopscotch game. He had done best when Nina outlined the letters, then they colored in the surrounding area.

C.

He couldn't place the next one, but it was followed by o, like a spooky ghost mouth saying, "Oooo!" Or a… how was the second 'o'? Ah, yes, like in 'top'.    
  
Kuh sound, ooo, another kuh sound—kook? Cook? Coc—wait, that couldn't be right!

Wylan shook his head. The word was too long and his mind kept skipping ahead and mixing things up. He would have to ask Jesper. Still—he had read the first word! Wylan fairly beamed as he hurried the next two blocks, his head tucked low against the chill and for no other reason. He had read a word by himself, and yes it was only six letters—only five distinct letters—but he had read it. 

There were lots of work-arounds if one sought them out. Most of his assignments had at least some electronic component. Wylan could find related videos and use speech-to-text programs to cobble together his assignments, and his teachers were all understanding about it. What still upset him was that he  _ could _ read. He had done it now. Slowly, painstakingly, but he put together the word and he went through each letter without losing the sounds for previous ones. If his father had given him real help…

"Hey, kid."

Wylan looked up. A man stood in front of him, bland enough, a white man with brown hair and a dog leash in his big hands.

"Have you seen a dog come by here? He's little, a cocker spaniel mix, golden brown fur. I just lost him, he ran this way…"

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen him."

"Do you think you could help me look? Please, he's my kid's best friend."

Wylan couldn't say no to that. Besides, a little dog in its own in this weather... 

"Sure."

"Thank you! I think he went this way—can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

They headed down an alley. Wylan still didn't see any sign of a dog. He really must have been in a hurry.

Then the man's arm wrapped across Wylan's throat and something sharp poked at his side.

"Don't talk," the man said.

Talk? His tongue was already in knots. His mind raced, though. Who had sent this man? His father or the conversion camp? Which were they trying to take him back to... and which was worse?

Wylan was shoved against the brick wall of a building—he thought it might be a liquor store or the inexplicable antique shop Nina and Jesper joked was a mob front. He didn't know why it felt so important to identify. The man had him pinned between two dumpsters. It was rank and no one would spot them from the street, and suddenly Wylan realized this might not be about his father at all. Maybe this man just saw a boy alone and took the opportunity.

His father's words echoed in his head. _I only want to protect you._ Had he been right after all?

"I-I don't have much," Wylan tried to barter. Ten dollars in his pocket. A note from Genya listing what she needed from the market.

"Not a sound."

"Please."

The response was a jab at his side, a reminder. A knife.

Wylan nodded. He understood. 

A car door opened but didn't shut and a second man joined them a moment later. He forced a rag into Wylan's mouth. He flinched at the feeling, at the taste of the man's dirty fingers when they brushed against his tongue.

His knees wanted to shake, he wanted to scream, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had been prepared for this, literally prepared for the eventuality of his kidnapping, he had been taught to stay calm. Be cooperative. 

_ Don't panic. Don't panic. _

He was panicking, shivering, but trying to talk again earned him a sharp poke in the side. It burned—they had cut him. Not deep, but enough to show they were serious.

Wylan managed to keep himself from antagonizing as his arms were tied behind his back and he was forced into a car. They told him to lie on the floor. Since his hands were tied and that's where they put him, he didn't see much choice.

_ Stay calm. Be cooperative. _

Wylan tried to just breathe. He shook, but he pulled air in. He pushed air out. The car began to move and Wylan forced himself to stare straight ahead. He could see under the seat, the man's feet in the footwell. That was better. That was better than thinking that as the car moved, it was taking him farther and farther away from Jesper and Genya, from David, Nina, Zoya, and Nikolai, even from Kaz. It was taking him away from his home.

One of the men made a phone call, reporting in, "We tracked down that lost puppy. Yes, sir, we're bringing him in."

Wylan couldn't make out the response, but he recognized the voice. He closed his eyes. He knew now.

A cold, heavy feeling settled over him, coursed through him.

He was going back to his father.


	27. Heartsick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: ableism, emotional abuse, physical abuse.
> 
> This chapter borrows from the books but hopefully it works as an homage and not an outright ripoff. Hopefully Jesper's reaction isn't too much, I struggled with this because he is prone to strong emotions in the book and Wylan in the fic represents his queer identity as well as being someone Jesper loves.

JESPER

  
  
Jesper had never been personally called over the tannoy at work. When the floor manager said his name, Jesper set back the boxes he had been flattening, smoothed his Aldi smock—no one, absolutely no one, looked good in a smock, but he did his best—and headed to the floor manager's station near the front of the market.  
  
Just a moment ago, he had been thinking about DMACC. He was planning on taking a 1-unit class that summer, "The College Experience," and just one class the next fall. That was what his da thought was best. Just one class, just to get used to this new style of learning, no need to push himself—and right now, if Da thought it was best, Jesper would go ahead with it. The bigger challenge was picking a class. Jesper did well enough at school when he put his mind to it, but there weren't any subjects he really _liked_ . He needed something he would actually _do_ , and ideally something that would lead to a good job so he could take himself and Wylan out of here, get them somewhere they could walk down the street together without fear.  
  
That was a ways off, though. For now, he just needed to see why he had been called to the floor manager's station. He hadn't messed up… had he? Nina had made good on her promise to have Nikolai look in on him and make sure his bosses knew Jesper's rights would not be violated without reprisal, so it couldn't be about that...  
  
That fear evaporated when he saw that Genya was there. Jesper's heart jolted at the prospect of seeing Wylan. It wouldn't be the first time his boyfriend stopped by while Jesper was at work and desperately needed help locating the milk. No matter how many times he visited the market, Wylan just could not figure out where anything was! But not only was Wylan not with Genya, she looked far too concerned for someone on a last-minute marketing run.  
  
"You haven't seen Wylan, have you?"  
  
"Not since school. I was planning to stop by later," Jesper said, only halfway sheepish. He hadn't exactly asked permission to stop by Genya's, and while he wasn't remotely embarrassed about doing it, he didn't usually lay out his intention like that. Usually he just showed up.  
  
Genya swallowed and nodded, but he could see that she was trying to keep herself together.  
  
"Is everything okay?"  
  
"I sent him here for two things an hour ago."  
  
Later, Jesper would claim it was impossible, but in the moment, he could swear he felt how deeply things had turned wrong.  
  
He had a shift to finish and barely knew what he did during it. The first time he lost Wylan was inexplicably bad. They had only been together for a few days, but the pain of it mingled with the very, very public exposure of his sexuality. This time it was just about Wylan. They had been side by side as often as possible for four and a half months, and Jesper was about ready to trade his left hand for the adoring looks Wylan didn't seem to realize he gave Jesper.  
  
Genya was devastated. Jesper did stop by their place after work, but not as he had initially intended. He needed to know if anything had changed. David, Nikolai, and Zoya were there, too. Genya and David were very different people in how they wore their concern. She had been crying. He had a drawn look on his face, and someone who didn't know him might almost think he was confused. Jesper knew better. He wondered which he was like. Walking around now felt like walking around with a gaping pit in the bottom of his stomach. Was he showing it?  
  
"Is there any news?"  
  
"We're assuming there was interference," Zoya told him, "that Wylan hasn't just lost track of the time. Or run away."  
  
"He wouldn't do that," Jesper said. Wylan? The same Wylan who had not so much as been late to class? He only lost track of time when Jesper was involved!  
  
"Then we have to assume his father has him. Nikolai is making a few phone calls."  
  
"Haven't you called the police?"  
  
"Wylan's status is precarious," David explained. He and Genya sat together at their kitchen table. He had one arm around her shoulders, the fingers of his other hand intertwined with hers. "It isn't technically illegal, but if anyone looked too closely…" He shrugged. "Most people never look very closely at anything, but when they do, they are rarely incapable of finding the truth in it."  
  
Ah. Jesper understood now: if Wylan hadn't been kidnapped by his father, drawing attention from the authorities might alert Jan Van Eck of his son's whereabouts. A tiny part of Jesper felt a thrill at the realization they were all _outlaws_ . They had gone around the law with only the best intentions and now had no one to turn to but themselves. In a movie, this is where the team cooked up a brilliant plan and pulled off some thrilling heroics.  
  
He looked at his feet. A smile had tugged at the corners of his lips. A _smile_ . At a time like this. Jesper knew better than anyone what Wylan was going back to, how could he, of all people, possibly smile?  
  
Staying in that house with so many adults and their decidedly reserved emotions made him twitchy, so Jesper left before too long. He had his own resources to draw on.  
  
"Kaz!"  
  
Jesper pounded on the door to the Slat.  
  
"Kaz, open the door! Brekker!"  
  
The door opened and Jesper nearly punched his friend in the face. He hadn't thought people did that outside of extremely contrived books and movies, but he was knocking and didn't really think Kaz would answer.  
  
Kaz just raised an eyebrow. Then he stepped back, inviting Jesper into the apartment.  
  
"Wylan's missing," Jesper said.  
  
"Nice to see you, too, Jes."  
  
"Wylan's missing."  
  
Kaz shut the door. "I heard you," he said, going to sit on the couch, "what do you want me to do?"  
  
"Find him!" Jesper half-shouted. He heard his desperation and felt it in his throat. The _look_ Kaz gave him wasn't necessary, Jesper was already pulling in deep breaths to get himself under control. He shook out his hands. Losing his cool wouldn't help anyone.  
  
Kaz took his always-there computer from the coffee table and placed it on his lap.  
  
"Kaz," Jesper said.  
  
Kaz looked up from the screen. "If you want me to find him, be quiet and let me work."  
  
Jesper was quiet and let Kaz work. He sat down on the floor, pulled his knees up, and tried not to make too much noise. He tapped the eyelets on his sneakers, he fiddled with his sleeves, he found a coin in his pocket and practiced dancing it over his knuckles. He wondered what Kaz was doing. Kaz was brilliant, no question about that, but being an excellent hacker wasn't exactly the same as finding a missing person. If only they had thought to microchip Wylan…  
  
"Found him," Kaz announced.  
  
Jesper looked up sharply. "Wylan?"  
  
Kaz shook his head. "Jan Van Eck. He's staying in Cleveland."  
  
Jesper wasn't impressed. That was what he had? He knew which city the Vice President was in? All he had done was _Google shit_ ?!  
  
Then Kaz listed his hotel and room number. "Looks like they booked an extra room a few days ago. That's a ten-hour drive. Go home. Come back tomorrow, I'll try to have more information"  
  
"That's your brilliant plan?" Jesper demanded.  
  
"For taking down the Vice President of the United States?"  
  
Jesper was silent. Much as he hated to admit it… Kaz was right. There was nothing for Jesper to do but go home and wait.

He drummed on the steering wheel as he drove.  
  
Wylan was missing. Taken. It set something loose inside Jesper, made some unsettled thing careen through him like a wet cat fleeing its bath. Wylan got Jesper through the day, seeing Wylan got him out of bed. There were a few girls who hung around with them, sat with them at lunch, but it was clear they had shown up because of Wylan. At least one of them had a crush on him, not that Wylan seemed to notice, and sometimes Jesper wanted to clarify things for them. Not to be rude. Just, when Wylan thought someone was being friendly, Jesper wished he could put his arm around Wylan's waist and clarify things.  
  
Worse was the thought of what must be happening to him right now. What would Jan Van Eck do? There was no question in Jesper's mind that Wylan's father was behidn this, and he was going to hurt Wylan, Jesper didn't doubt that, he was going to start telling him that he was stupid, he was weak, he was worthless. And no one would be there to tell him otherwise. And Wylan… sweet, optimistic Wylan would go on believing the best of his father. He would go on believing he must be bad, because his father wouldn't just hurt him out of sheer _evil_ .  
  
Poor Genya, too, she had been devastated. Of course she had. Jesper only knew a bit of what happened to her and David last year, but he understood this must feel like losing their child all over again.  
  
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a worrying _clunk_ , a _thunk_ , and a mechanical sputter. Jesper realized what was happening in time to guide his now-coasting truck to the side of the road and throw it into park. This would be the end to another perfect day in the life of Jesper Fahey.  
  
He grabbed his phone. First he called for a tow, then he called his da for a lift back home. Then he waited, shredding a piece of paper from his notebook as he did. 

Jesper didn't realize how bad he felt until he saw his father. He hugged him like he hadn't seen him in months.

Colm replied with a mildly puzzled, "It's all right, Jes. Old cars break down. It happens."

He thought...

"Wylan's gone."

"What?"

"He's gone. His father has him."

And Jesper was alone.

"Oh, Jesper."

A year ago, he never would have believed he would find himself here, that his da would hold him on the side of the road, next to a wheat field and a broken truck, and it would feel like the only safe place left in the world.

* * *

WYLAN

Jan Van Eck curled his lip at the sight of his son. Wylan stared back, furious. He didn't get to do that, be all disapproving like Wylan had asked for this!

"Say hello, Wylan. You're being rude."

Wylan glowered.

He was not tied to a chair or handcuffed to a table or anything so cliched. No, his father's rally tonight was in a theater. Wylan was in his father's suite in a nearby hotel, seated in a comfortable chair. It seemed appropriate, in a way. Picking up where they had left off.  
  
They had driven what felt like countless hours for this. Wylan spent most of that time restrained on the floor of the van. He gave his father's men credit for some decency, they had taken Wylan out to relieve himself on the side of the highway where no one would notice the kid being supervised by two armed men. But mostly they had left him alone. They had tried taking the restraints off, but Wylan tried to run away when they stopped at a gas station. His wrists hurt. His mouth hurt from the gag. He was exhausted and sore and he missed his home.

"You look healthy enough," Jan said. "Filthy, but that can be fixed."

Wylan tried to say something, but his throat was too dry. He went to the mini-bar and took a bottle of water, which he drained. Then he returned to his seat. There was no point being petulant: he was not leaving this room until Jan was through with him.

Jan gave Wylan an appraising look, not entirely disapproving.

Then he slapped him hard across the face. 

Wylan wasn't expecting it, but he wasn't surprised, either. He missed Genya. Genya always knew when he was hurting. It was noticeable at her house because he wasn't numb like he had been with Jan.

Apparently that was not the reaction Jan wanted. He grabbed Wylan's chin and made Wylan look at him.

"I have given you everything, and every time you threw it away. I would have sent you to the best schools, but you were too lazy to learn. I sent you to be fixed so you could live a normal life and you ran away. You have always been a disappointment. At least you used to show respect."

Wylan ran his tongue around his mouth and spat in his father's face.

Jan slapped him again, then wiped his face on a tissue.

"I did not like it, seeing that my son was an eternal child, but at least you knew to respect me after all I have done for you. This rudeness, that you would _leave_ —did you think I wouldn't find you? You are mine, Wylan, until I have no further use for you. No matter. Here you are now. I have a rally tonight, you will make an appearance. Shower and put on decent clothes. Wait here until you are sent for. How special it will be for all the voters to witness our reunion. You've been away at school, but you're back for the last days of the campaign. Is that understood?"

Wylan said nothing. He would not give his father the satisfaction of futile rebellion, but he wouldn't give him obedience, either. Instead he looked down at his wrists. 

Jan sighed. "173 Clearview Road," he said.

Wylan looked up sharply.

Jan almost smiled. "173 Clearview Road, David Kostyk and Genya Safin. Kostyk is some sort of idiot savant, well, half like you. Perhaps we can arrange for you to visit them, if you can behave yourself. Or perhaps they kidnapped my innocent and misguided son and ought to be arrested and tried. That poor woman. Half-mad, but then who wouldn't be, ruined as she is."

Wylan swallowed. The insults made him shake. He wanted to swing his fist at his father's face and ideally break at least one bone, wanted to shout that none of that was true, but he didn't dare, not when other people's safety was at risk. Genya and David had been nothing but kind to him, and he had tried to be helpful in return. He couldn't let his father hurt them. He _wouldn't._

At least Jan seemed not to know about Jesper.

"I've missed you while I was away," he said, softly. Defeated.

"Good choice."  
  
"Do you believe in God?"  
  
Wylan had never thought to ask before. His father was so publicly faithful, had always ensured that Wylan too made clear his devotion—but Wylan truly believed. He wasn't sure Jan believed in anything but himself.  
  
He looked surprised by the question, but only mildly annoyed. "Why would you ask me that?"  
  
It was answer enough. Wylan still wanted to know.  
  
"Did you send me there to make me better? Or was it just to hurt me?"  
  
He thought about the nights he couldn't sleep. Wylan was so much better now, but when he was alone in the dark, he forgot. Dark could be anywhere. He would fall asleep and return… he remembered the morning Genya shook him awake and he panicked. The weather had turned. He woke up babbling excuses and apologies and promising he hadn't done anything bad , woke up with his hands under the covers because he had been cold last night, but that wasn't allowed, not… not there. Genya hadn't been angry, but she had hurt for him. Wylan had to know if his father did that to her—to him—out of a misguided good intention, or out of cruelty.  
  
Jan Van Eck gave his head a shake, dismissing the question. "Go and wash up, you smell like a vagrant."

"I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you, Father."

"Don't be absurd," Jan said. "You've never done anything else."

It stung. Wylan clenched his jaw. He didn't know why it bothered him, but it did.  
  
"Why 'Riley'?" Jan asked.  
  
Maybe it was to let Wylan know that his ruse had been a failure, maybe he truly wondered. Either way, Wylan risked a slap by ignoring his father's question.

"Can I have breakfast or do you want me to grovel for that, too?"

"I'll have something sent up. I am not a cruel man, Wylan. I simply employ the methods necessary."

Wylan shook his head and muttered, "Whatever." Then he went to wash off the stink of the first part of a long nightmare.  
  
Halfway to the bathroom, he paused.  
  
The phone was ringing.  
  
Jan gave him a sneer. "Who would be calling _you_ ?" he asked, then picked up the phone and asked in a perfectly civil tone, "Van Eck."  
  
Of course it hadn't been for Wylan. He didn't know why he would have thought that.  
  
"Yes," Jan said, sounding annoyed, "my refrigerator is running."  
  
Even Wylan knew this gag! He couldn't help laughing, even as Jan slammed down the receiver, even as he shoved Wylan against the wall, a hand around his neck. Wylan should have been afraid.  
  
Instead, he said, "Careful, Father. You wouldn't want me damaged where they'll see."  
  
Jan regarded him for a moment. Then he delivered a savage blow to Wylan's side, leaving him doubled over and coughing. His son hadn't recovered when Jan Van Eck left the room with a reminder he expected Wylan to have washed and changed before becoming even more of a nuisance.  
  
Wylan didn't care. It had been worth it.  
  
His clothes were hanging in the bathroom, bland and impersonal things from a couple of months ago that would make Wylan look like he was cosplaying as an assistant manager at Dairy Queen. He shrugged out of the flannel shirt he wore and for a moment just held it. He touched the patch at the elbow and the grease stain near the hem. Jesper was not gentle to his clothes and this had been Jesper's shirt—was still, by rights. Wylan was just borrowing it.  
  
After Wylan had showered and changed into his pre-approved Junior Businessman costume, and found his father gone, he opened the door to see if anyone out there knew if his father said anything about food. He wasn't especially proud of it, but despite the day, despite _everything_ that had happened, Wylan's body still had biological needs. Right now, it biologically needed sustenance.  
  
He forgot that when he saw who was standing there.  
  
"Agent Helvar!" Wylan had never been happier to see the man.  
  
"Good morning, Mister Van Eck."  
  
Wylan knew he ought to be removed and professional and mature. He wasn't. He wasn't Jan Van Eck's son anymore. He was Genya Safin and David Kostyk's son. He was someone's boyfriend and someone else's friend. Wylan belonged to people now in small pieces, and each little piece was someone else he could be.  
  
No longer limited by his father's expectations, he stepped forward and hugged Agent Helvar. The man didn't respond immediately. When he did, it was to place a hand on Wylan's hair and pet him, hesitant. His hands were massive. Wylan didn't notice until he realized how much of his head Agent Helvar's palm covered.  
  
In a harsh whisper he said, "I hope you've been well, Wylan. I worried about you."  
  
"I've been fine. Better than fine, I've been so happy. He h…" Wylan stopped himself. He wanted to say it. _He had me kidnapped. He had me grabbed off the street and stuffed into the back of a van._ But saying that would make it somehow realer than the experience.  
  
Agent Helvar couldn't make everything better, but his presence here softened the edges of Wylan's numbness. At least he wasn't completely alone.


	28. Making a Spectacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Ok, as long as I post 1-2 chapters a day, I can have all 30 posted by the deadline, no worries!
> 
> Me: *does the math*
> 
> Me: Fuuuuuuuuu---
> 
> In conclusion, oops. Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.

WYLAN   
  


Wylan touched the edge of the paper in his pocket. He hadn't been able to wear any of his Iowa clothes, but he had emptied the pockets. Now he had a ten-dollar bill and a note carefully folded into the pocket of his khakis. The long sleeves of his dress shirt hid the bruises on his wrists. Wylan looked like his old self: dressed in wealth and dead in the eyes. Just how his father liked him.

_ I am not a cruel man _ , Jan had said.    
  
He was a cruel man. 

Wylan was in a backstage dressing room, waiting to be ushered onto the stage. He could hear the roaring and chants of the audience, fired up for his father. Well, fired up for the top of the ticket, settling for Jan. Wylan had done plenty of these rallies—his father's events used to be smaller, but he was used to bring dolled up and trotted out and photographed. This was different. Before, he didn't like it because the false front made him uncomfortable.

Now he didn't like it because participating in this event made him an accomplice to every wrong thing the administration did. He was still a pawn, but in chess, black and white are even. In real life, his father stood for the people who would have turned away Jesper's grandfather when he arrived from Haiti. They were the people who denied Genya healthcare because her fetus's life mattered more to them than her own. They were the people who said that Jesper and Wylan shouldn't be allowed to marry, or in some cases, become teachers or just be with each other. And Kaz… Wylan didn't know why Kaz hated them, actually, he was just certain he had a wound somewhere besides his leg.

Wylan wished he had given Kaz Alys's name after all, then hated himself for wishing it. How could he ask someone else to fix his problems? How could he wish it at the expense of others?

He took the note from his pocket. He still didn't know what it said, but smoothed it out, picked up a nub of a pencil someone had left behind, and began to write.   
  
He thought about the classroom again, his thumbs-up hands on the desk. Left forearm—"a,"—left hand—"b,"'—the space between—"c,"—right hand—"d."

a, b, c, d.

_ dere _

The letters wobbled, but Wylan didn't care. He had written them.  _ He _ had written them. That would matter to her.

_ dere jenya  _

He knew how it looked. Some pathetic part of him wanted to show his father, to prove he could learn. It made him sick that he wanted to, but he did. He wanted to make his father proud, even as he knew that Jan Van Eck would never be proud of him.

_ dere jenya i mis you _

The door flew open and someone… intern? Assistant? Some minion of a minion of his father's announced, "Five minutes!"

Wylan had slammed his hand over his scrawled letters, but she didn't care. He sighed and looked around the room. He didn't have time to write her a real letter, anyway. He returned the note to his pocket and looked around the dressing room. There were pictures on the wall, held there with staples. One staple stuck out unevenly. Wylan picked at it. Its picture was long gone. It was just a staple, unused…

"Time to go!" announced the same girl from earlier just as the staple came loose. If this were one of those quick-thinking action shows Jesper liked, Wylan would have used the staple to escape. He had no idea how, but he would know if he were an action hero. He would take down his father, expose the whole administration with that staple!

He was not an action hero. He was a lost boy who wanted something to hold onto. 

Wylan's stomach felt sick as he followed the intern/assistant girl into the wings. She grinned at him and he realized it had already begun. The lying. He was already an accomplice.

There was no Kaz fixing this.

There was no going home to Genya and David.

His father would probably kill him before letting him near Jesper again.

Wylan smiled as he walked onstage. He knew he was supposed to wave and smile, but he felt like throwing up. He couldn't make it to his father without tripping.

The crowd roared. Wylan was their victory play. They knew it. He knew it.

"Smile," Jan hissed.

Wylan did his best. They didn't care that it was fake. How could he smile thinking about how these people talked about his friends behind closed doors?

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jan said, and the crowd slowly took their cue to quiet down. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm so glad you could be here tonight to welcome my son home!"

Raucous applause.

Wylan thought about his friends. He was alone up here, alone in this room like a rabbit in front of a whole den of hungry foxes, but he was not alone in this world.

He had friends. He had people who cared for him.

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes as Wylan realized he might genuinely die tonight. His father really might kill him.

"Wylan," Jan said.

He wouldn't do it. He would not sell out his friends.

"Wylan, say hello."

The crowd cheered.

Wylan was silent.

The cheering faltered, uncertain.

"Go ahead, Wylan," Jan urged.

Wylan stepped back. Now the cheering died down. The theater fell into silence as, in front of thousands of viewers and at least a half-dozen networks, Wylan Van Eck walked away from his father. He turned the staple in his fingers, all he had to hold onto, small enough a thing that it would go unnoticed. He had left the note in his pocket. Would that note ever make its way to Genya? He hoped so. He hoped she knew how much he missed her. Cared for her.

Jan chuckled awkwardly. "He's been away at school, my son hasn't been in front of a crowd this size before, just a little stage fright… come on back out, Wylan."

The phrasing was less than ideal, Wylan thought. The last time he came out, he was sent to be—what had Nina said?—tortured into acting straight.

The minions upon minions clustered, refusing to let Wylan leave. They were all talking at once, telling him to get his ass back there, asking him what was wrong, calling him a pussy. He thought about some of the videos Nina showed him, a Russian music group called Pussy Riot performing their songs and being arrested for it in neon balaclavas. He didn't deserve the association.

"Wylan!" 

If he didn't already recognize the voice, the hand around his arm yanking him around could only be Jan. His crew would boss, bully, cajole, and belittle Wylan as needed to win, but they wouldn't manhandle him. That was only Jan.

"Get back out there, you're making a spectacle."

Wylan glanced behind his father, at the slice of the crowd he could see. Looked to him like it was Jan who made the spectacle.

"Get out there or you're going back to that program and I'll see to it they keep you chained to the goddamn floor until you're fixed."

Wylan was scared. Plain and simple, he was scared to go back there, to the emptiness, the shouting, to the accusations and insults and the cold room they wouldn't let him leave until he said what they wanted to hear. But he was not so scared he would be his father's creature.

And the strangest thing was… he could be fixed. In two months with support and training, he had learned to read. Not much and not well and not fast, but he could usually make out a word if you gave him time. He thought of the paper in his pocket.  _ dere jenya i mis you _ . It wasn't much, but it was his.    
  
He could learn. He could get better.

"No," he said. Then he looked his father in the eye and said, "Fuck you."

Three little words blew a chasm through his father's composure. He reacted before either of them could think. The slap was sharp enough that Wylan clapped a hand to his face.

"I'm sorry," Wylan whispered. "I'm sorry, Father."

"Much better," Jan said, the fury in his voice contained now. "Now come tell everyone how happy you are to see them. Smile, Wylan."   
  
Wylan forced a smile onto his face.

Jan put an arm around Wylan's shoulders, guiding him back onto the stage. Wylan kept his head turned just far enough to hide a secret from his father. Just far enough. Jan wasn't listening for it, and he didn't hear the crowd's wavering enthusiasm before it was too late.

* * *

JESPER

Everything should have stopped with Wylan's disappearance. Everything should have been different. But Da sent him to school like always, insisting Jesper needed to get his mind off things. Jesper didn't even have the truck; he would have to take the bus. At least the weather commiserated, rain pelting down. He kept his arms tucked close under his umbrella, glad for once to be so skinny. Sure, he was a beanpole, but less rain fell on him.   
  
Jesper walked to the bus with one thought pounding in his head:  _ he couldn't _ . He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't.    
  
He couldn't face school right now. Da had insisted, so Jesper climbed onto the bus. He picked his way to an empty bench, kicking an ankle someone stuck out to trip him, and slumped into the seat. A day at school wouldn't be so bad. All he needed to do was last through one day. Jesper drummed his fingers against his thighs, unconsciously drumming in time to the rain pinging off the bus roof. Better not to think about Wylan. It was just a day, just a normal day.   
  
Just a regular day without Nina.   
  
Just a regular day without Kaz.   
  
Just a regular day without seeing how Wylan smiled when he noticed Jesper… without knowing if Wylan was safe...

Someone hissed a slur from behind him. Jesper let his eyes close gently.  
  
He could get through just one day. Everyone knew who sold what on campus. Well, maybe not everyone, but he knew. Jesper gnawed his lip. It was just one day. He didn't need to tell his da.   
  
The bus jolted to a stop. Without knowing what he meant to do, Jesper opened his eyes, leapt to his feet, and bolted to the front of the bus.   
  
"Hey!" the driver called after him.   
  
Jesper didn't stop. He knew precisely one thing for sure: he couldn't do this. He used to run track. That was a long time ago, but Jesper still liked to move, still remembered how to fall into a rhythm and deepen his breathing. It was still dark out. He had sense enough to stick to the road.   
  
There was a stitch in his side and his legs were shaking when he arrived home. Jesper heard Rhodri barking. He and his backpack were soaked; he dropped the pack just inside the front door. As luck would have it, even being skinny didn't keep him dry when he had almost five miles to run and the rain wasn't letting up. He heard the shower running, which meant he had a few minutes at least to pull himself together and think of an explanation.   
  
When he was thirteen, Jesper had come home angry after an assembly at which a visiting speaker explained that being "a homosexual" was "like a sickness", and he had announced that he wasn't going to school again because he was calling in gay. Also because he hated school; why did he need to learn algebra to become a farmer? Colm gave Jesper one day to "stay home being gay". Then it was right back to algebra and U.S. history.    
  
It wasn't fair. Just like Nina had told Wylan at the birthday party, it wasn't fair for Jesper to have to change because bullies existed. It wasn't fair for him to deal with bullies, either, though. Was it?   
  
Jesper went back to his bedroom to swap his soaked clothes for dry ones. Then, figuring it would soften the blow, he made coffee.   
  
Colm paused when he spotted his son sitting at the kitchen table, stirring a mug of coffee. A second mug sat opposite. Colm sat. Drank. Jesper kept stirring his coffee, even after the sugar was dissolved.    
  
How many times had they sat this way before? They were Jesper's strongest memories from rehab, stronger than every laugh he shared with Nina, stronger than the screaming fit he pitched that he  _ needed _ to get out of here. Stronger by far than individual or group counseling. He remembered every too-stretched second of awkward silence, the hurting hot feeling of having someone else present like he needed a conversation with his da facilitated.   
  
But every time anyone said,  _ Jesper, would you like to tell your father… _ the words wouldn't come.   
  
After a too-long quiet Jesper said, "I love you, but outside home he's all I have and if you make me go to school without him I don't trust myself not to get high." Saying that felt like pulling teeth, if he had teeth growing in his sternum. "I don't want to go back without him. I'll take my GED — "   
  
"Out of the question," Colm interrupted. "You'll graduate."   
  
Jesper looked at his father and shook his head. There wasn't any challenge in it. "I won't," he said, matter-of-fact. "I can't. I hate it there."   
  
"Your education is more important."   
  
"But you — " Jesper began angrily, then cut himself off. He looked away and forced a few deep breaths. Rhodri, whining, nudged his thigh and Jesper scratched the dog's ears as he put together what he needed to say. "You don't know what it's like to be the only one. It's not about being not-straight, it's about being not-straight surrounded by people who think that makes you a sinner or a pervert or just a target. It's not a school it's a fu — it's a combat zone," he caught himself before he cussed. Da didn't like cussing.   
  
Colm considered that for a moment. He drank his coffee. Finally, he said, "You could have told me you were being bullied. You could have told me it was this bad."   
  
Jesper shrugged. "I'm telling you now."   
  
"I suppose you are," Colm allowed.   
  
Neither knew what to say. They drank, and Rhodri whined until attention was paid him.   
  
"The most important thing you did after I came out to you," Jesper said, "was that you never treated me like I was gay before I was your son. You put me first. When I'm at school, all anyone sees is that I like guys. Wylan is the only friend I have left there. I really love him, Da."   
  
Colm nodded. "It's not permanent, but you'll stay home today. We'll get through this."   
  
Jesper didn't entirely believe that, but he wanted to. He wanted his da to be able to make this better, so for now — for today — he nodded.   
  
He still felt like the world ought to have stopped, but it didn't. Life went on. Chores had to be done. Jesper loaded the washer because they needed clean clothes to wear, and that evening he made dinner because they had to eat.

He tried to do his homework, because he had to graduate. That effort was less successful.

The text Kaz sent was both specific and vague: it simply read, "channel 7."

Jesper hadn't been focused on his homework, anyway. He grabbed the remote.

"Oh, shit."

There was Jan Van Eck's Cleveland rally. And there, front and center, was Wylan Van Eck, his chin held high as blood and tears streaked down his face.

"I'm… I'm just glad to be here," Wylan said. It sounded like the conclusion to a longer speech.

Beside him, Jan Van Eck looked horrified.

Jesper called Nina.

"Dude, I saw," Nina said as, onscreen, a literal curtain dropped.

"Does Genya know?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. Genya and David know. Just… dude. What the hell."

Jesper couldn't have put it better himself.


	29. Matthias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: yet more child abuse from Jan, suicidal intent, suicide (referenced, non-graphic, not a named character)

MATTHIAS

Matthias had always wanted to serve his country.    
  
In high school, he joined the ROTC. He loved it--the drills and order, the smartness of his uniform. ROTC gave his life a meaning his classes lacked. He would, from time to time, only complete a particularly pointless assignment because his GPA impacted his participation in ROTC, and because he represented the ROTC.   
  
After graduation, he enlisted in the Marine Corps. It was exactly what Matthias hoped. It was almost impossible and a place he knew beyond question that everything about his life contributed to a purpose greater than himself. He found a talent as a dog-handler and retired alongside Tira, the military working dog with whom he had served his second tour.   
  
Matthias still honored service, but chose to serve now closer to home. So he enlisted once more, this time in the Secret Service.   
  
Service there was… different. He remembered the ethics lectures, being told time and again that he had a charge to protect and what that charge did was not his concern. It disillusioned him somewhat. Gave him the impression he might not be so much a guardian as an accomplice.   
  
Then Matthias met his charge.   
  
He was a child the day they met. Fifteen, sure, but he could have passed for twelve the way he had to look up at Matthias, raking aside strawberry blond curls from blue eyes big enough to pass for anime. And he said  _ thank you _ . Matthias hadn't done anything, but Wylan thanked him like it didn't occur to him not to trust this man.   
  
Matthias felt like Tira then--big and tough, scarred but still strong, and he had the sense he was that tough old dog looking down at a hopeful, guileless kitten. He had spent his life dedicated to a concept of service. That day, it felt more like protection. Like he was a dog who had seen the harsh places of the world and it was his intrinsic duty to shield the kitten--boy--from the same. Matthias wasn't sure that it was only his naivete. Maybe something in Wylan reminded Matthias of the sister he had lost. Whatever the reason, there had always been a purpose beyond professionalism to his protection.   
  
Matthias kept secrets, as he had been warned he must. For the first time, on the previous trip to Iowa, Matthias didn't mind. He didn't mind keeping secret that Wylan looked sparks at another boy. He didn't mind keeping secret that Wylan and his boyfriend broke into the pool. He liked Wylan's sweet little secrets of stolen glances and shy smiles. He liked seeing Wylan happy for once.   
  
Then there were the secrets he hated keeping.   
  
He didn't know precisely what had happened tonight, but everyone was buzzing as the Vice President marched his son down the hallway by his ear. Matthias had to do a double-take. Jan Van Eck was not a kind man. He had never hesitated to give his son a slap, to punish him past regular discipline and certainly past what one needed to train a docile kitten. But it wasn't something with which Matthias would or could interfere. 

Wylan was _bleeding_. Half his face was smeared with blood.  
  
By chance, Matthias was in the hallway when Jan Van Eck stormed past him into the hotel room. He heard the heavy thud that could only be Wylan's body hitting the floor.  
  
Matthias swallowed. The Vice President rarely beat his son. He could be harsh with him, harsher than most men would be with an obedient boy like Wylan. (Before the pool incident, the worst thing Matthias had seen him do was whine, and even that was without his father in the room.) This…   
  
He should have been dutiful in his service. He should have let the door swing shut, looked up and down the hallway for threats, ignored whatever he heard going on behind him. Instead, Matthias nudged his toe just far enough to keep the door open so that he heard when Jan Van Eck told his son, "I should have you drowned like the faithless whelp that you are."  
  
"Do it then," Wylan said, making Matthias's eyes pop. That wasn't Wylan's usual response. Wylan's usual response was to apologize, to promise to be better.  
  
"Wylan…"  
  
"Do it! If this is my life, end it."  
  
Jan Van Eck growled deep in his throat. "When I return," he said, "you will have washed your face, stopped crying, and prepared an apology. There were thousands of people in that theater, you ruined their evening."  
  
Matthias stepped back into his 'I have been here the entire time and heard nothing of note' posture. The Vice President swept past him with barely a glance, his face thinly veiled fury, normally impeccable hair disheveled.   
  
Only after he had disappeared around the corner did Matthias unlock the door and step into the room. Wylan was in a heap on the floor, where his father must have left him. It was just too much for Matthias. Time after time he had seen this boy show deference, but something had happened in the past few months. The Wylan from before would be crying softly to himself, maybe, or hugged up into a ball. This Wylan sat there, his jaw set defiantly. Then he got up and looked Matthias in the eye, and Matthias realized that those months had put Wylan on his own two feet and set him on the path to manhood.  
  
"Are you going to keep fighting him?" Matthias asked.  
  
"Until he kills me," Wylan said. "I've beaten him. There is nothing else left for me. You've always been kind to me. Thank you for that. You can't know how much it meant."  
  
He wasn't just talking. That was a genuine goodbye. That was the goodbye one gave before ending their life. Three men Matthias served with had eaten their guns; he knew it when he heard it.  
  
Wylan went into the bathroom, but left the door open as he splashed water on his face.  
  
"What would make you change your mind?"  
  
"Nothing. He'll hit me, send me to another… another _place_ …"  
  
"You weren't at boarding school," Matthias surmised.  
  
Wylan laughed bitterly. He grabbed a towel to dry his face, but he hadn't done a thorough enough wash. He frowned at the blood-stained towel.  
  
"You know I'm gay," Wylan said. "He sent me to be 'fixed'. Brought back to Christ. _Love each other as I have loved you._ That's what Christ said. _As the Lord has forgiven you, so you must also forgive._ I had an app for it, about the Bible. There's an awful lot in it about love, Agent Helvar. I guess to be fair, it talks about beating your son. So there's that."  
  
"You've been there all this time?" Matthias was--well, he was horrified. He had heard about conversion therapies. He liked to think of himself as an ally, he understood that Wylan didn't choose to be gay any more than Matthias chose to be straight. If even 10% of what he believed to be true in conversion therapies was true…  
  
Wylan shook his head. He had finally washed off the blood and held a wad of toilet paper to his forehead.   
  
"I ran away," he explained, "and I jumped into a river and I walked for half a day with no water just to get out of that place, and this woman found me and she took me home. No questions asked. She took me in, fixed me up, her and her husband. I was there until yesterday, when…"  
  
This time Wylan didn't finish what he was saying. He bit his lip and looked away, and Matthias realized his fear had come to pass. By being here, he was an accomplice to the crimes that had been inflicted on Wylan.  
  
"I just wanna go home," he said, voice breaking. "I just… but he'll never let me go, never. I just…"  
  
"You want to go back to Indiana?"  
  
"Iowa. The couple who--who helped me, they're back in Iowa. They must be so worried."  
  
Matthias swallowed. This wasn't it. This was not service to his country. He had spent time enough around Jan Van Eck to know the man viewed his son as an inconvenience and a prop and little else. He had spent time enough around Wylan Van Eck to know he was good.   
  
"How badly are you bleeding?"  
  
"Not so bad," Wylan said, sticking a butterfly closure on his forehead, "it's healing."  
  
"Good," Matthias said. He had made a decision now. It would cost him, he knew that, and he wasn't certain how he could come back from it, but he had spent months protecting this kid. If he left him in his father's custody, he left him to die. So Matthias said, "We're going."  
  
"W-what? Going? Where?"  
  
Where did he think?  
  
"Iowa."  
  
Wylan shook his head. "If I go back, my father will… he'll hurt them."  
  
"I'm not going to let that happen."  
  
The words rang hollow to Matthias. Jan Van Eck was the one threat he _couldn't_ protect against and that had been the case since the day he met Wylan. But he was determined now, no longer willing to participate in a flawed system without voicing his dissent.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Get your things, Wylan."  
  
Wylan gave Matthias a surprised look. "My things? They grabbed me off the street, I had nothing but the clothes on my back."  
  
Matthias's jaw tightened. He knew there was custodial interference here and he didn't know the details or the laws at work. He didn't know who had a legal right to Wylan. If only he were a year older, Wylan would be his own, but as a minor… Matthias didn't know. He just knew what was right and wrong.  
  
"Then we leave now."  
  
Wylan nodded. They started down the hallway. Fundamentally, this was a simple plan. They would go down to the garage. Matthias didn't have a choice for vehicles but a government-issue SUV, but that was okay. Being tracked was okay because Van Eck knew where they were going and Matthias was not trying to hide. He was breaking the rules to right a wrong. They would--  
  
Matthias stopped. Not ten feet away, the Vice President of the United States stepped out of the door to a hotel room. He spotted Matthias and Wylan, and he got a dangerous look in his eye. Matthias shifted just slightly. He couldn't actually stand in front of Wylan, that would be too obvious a move and antagonize the Vice President, but that quarter-step put Wylan a bit behind Matthias. It was just enough that most people would overlook him.  
  
Jan Van Eck was not most people.  
  
"Take him back to his room," he told Matthias. To his son, "Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?"  
  
Matthias recognized the Secret Service agents behind Jan. One was a veteran of the Service, while the other only a couple of years Matthias's senior. He didn't know how they would get past him. While it was not in his nature to lie…  
  
"Mister Vice President, he asked to step outside and get some air," Matthias began. Taking him up to the roof, that was his planned story. He often took Wylan to the roof to look at the stars. Most of the time, Wylan had seemed not to realize he had any autonomy, that Matthias would follow him because it was Matthias's job. He would ask permission.  
  
Van Eck was in no mood for it today.   
  
"What did you say to him?" he demanded of his son.  
  
"Sir," Matthias tried.  
  
Van Eck strode forward and grabbed his son by the hair, a vicious look promising Wylan would pay for this. He didn't say it. He didn't have to. Wylan didn't cry out, but looked at Matthias the way he had that first day. Not pleading. Not even afraid. If anything, he looked grateful that Matthias had tried.  
  
He had a decision to make and he made it without thinking.  
  
Matthias Helvar punched Jan Van Eck square in the face.  
  
It was the most satisfying punch Matthias had ever thrown. The man fell back, hands going to his nose. It was gushing blood, probably broken. The agents protecting him looked at Matthias; both had instinctively drawn weapons, but Matthias wasn't worried. He held up his hands.  
  
"I'm not a threat. It was in defense of my charge," Matthias said.   
  
No one moved for a moment.  
  
"Subdue him!" Van Eck demanded, his voice damp and thick.  
  
"We've known what this is for a long time," Matthias said. "We've known."  
  
Known, and done nothing. Listened. Matthias had stood outside hotel rooms with these men before. They had heard some of the same blows landing, certainly the same demeaning words. They knew full well that Jan Van Eck insulted his son as if on instinct. Only once had Matthias asked about it, he had asked this man… Nils, that was his name. The older of the two. He was the one who told Matthias it was best to mind his business.  
  
This _was_ his business.  
  
It was Nils who faltered first.  
  
"He put a hand on Helvar's charge, Helvar was just doing his job," he told his partner. "Holster your weapon."  
  
"Wylan," Matthias said. The boy was staring, gaping at his father, and for the first time Matthias realized that Wylan might not have wanted him to do that. Maybe he didn't want his father harmed despite everything Van Eck did.  
  
Maybe Wylan didn't have a clear enough head to make that decision.  
  
Maybe he felt betrayed, anyway.  
  
"You traitors!" Van Eck snapped, but it came out like, _You draibors._ "Do' come back ib you leab. You're nod my… son!" He spat the last word with great effort.  
  
Like he was waking up, Wylan looked his father over. Almost dispassionately, his eyes traveled over the man whose bleeding nose had already stained the shirt and jacket of a surely very expensive suit.  
  
"Thank you," Wylan said. Then he walked over to Matthias, looked up at him, and asked, "Can we go now?"  
  
Matthias guided Wylan to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Wylan began to tremble. Matthias knew the feeling. He had probably just lost his job in a way he would never again be hired into government service.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
Wylan's head snapped up. "What?"  
  
"The town."  
  
"Oh!" Wylan told him.  
  
Matthias nodded. He didn't know that he'd be able to get it out of him later.  
  
They didn't talk much as they climbed into the car, Matthias driving and Wylan in the passenger seat. Wylan was still trembling. He had enough presence of mind to buckle up, then sank his head into his hands as they drove out of the garage. Matthias entered the town name into his phone at a red light.  
  
Matthias had punched Jan Van Eck.  
  
Matthias had punched the Vice President of the United States in the face.   
  
He was shamefully proud of himself. He looked at his reddened knuckles on the steering wheel and was proud of himself.  
  
"He'll never take me back," Wylan whispered hoarsely as they got onto the Interstate. "He'll never forgive me."  
  
No, probably not, but Matthias couldn't help thinking Wylan sounded like a battered spouse. _He'll never take me back._ What had Wylan done, though? Tried to leave? Been defended when his father hurt him? That had always been the weirdest thing. Matthias thought, at first, that there must have been a reason Jan Van Eck so hated his son. Not a _good_ reason, of course, but a reason. Yet one never presented itself.   
  
"When was the last time you slept?"  
  
"An hour or two this afternoon."  
  
Matthias carefully removed his jacket and handed it to Wylan. "Get some rest."  
  
Wylan accepted the jacket. He was half Matthias's size and easily curled up under it. Good--he needed the sleep, and Matthias needed the time to think. The adrenaline of the confrontation had drained out of him. Now he needed to process what he had done and where he was.  



	30. For the Foreseeable Future

WYLAN 

Wylan squirmed as he woke, stretching his cold, stiff muscles. He noticed that first, the soreness of his body. Then the sensation of steady, rapid motion.

He glanced over at the driver's seat. Agent Helvar drove, eyes ahead. The dashboard clock read 3:17.

Wylan realized how lucky he was that Agent Helvar was on duty tonight. He knew one thing from before: nobody else would have helped him. Maybe they would have been indifferent or afraid of his father or just not allowed to interfere. Nobody else would have done this.

"You look like King Arthur," Wylan said. Immediately he blushed. "I just… um…"

Agent Helvar glanced at him. Then he started to laugh. Wylan had never heard the man laugh before. It was contagious. Suddenly they were both cracking up, a couple of guys zooming toward who knew what, chewing up highway in a black SUV that may as well have said 'g-men' on its side for almost subtlety.

When they were both a little more serious—at least breathing evenly—Wylan said, "You do have that look, a bit."

"Hm. I think I prefer Thor, actually."

"I can see that," Wylan agreed. He did have that big, blond, Norse-looking thing going for him. "You saved my life."

Agent Helvar shook his head. "No. Your father was not going to kill you."

"There are different levels of dead," Wylan replied.

"It has been my experience that there's just the one."

Wylan didn't think that was true. There was dead on the outside and dead on the inside. There was the half-dead a person needed to be when they were a puppet. _Say hello, Wylan._

"What is your experience, Agent?" Wylan asked, then realized how rude that must have been right on the heels of talking about death. "I didn't mean—I just don't know much about you."

"That's all right. I served in Afghanistan before joining the Secret Service… from which I'm fairly certain I have now been fired, so I'm not sure where I go next."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You were my first assignment. If this is what the Secret Service is, standing by and protecting an abuser, it's not what I want."

They drove straight through until sunrise. The landscape was looking more familiar now, and Wylan sat up a little straighter. They passed the gas station where Nina worked—not to be confused with the Shell where they went for good ice cream. 

He gave directions, rubbing the seatbelt to keep from unbuckling it like he could run home faster. He checked the clock. It was almost 7:30. Would they be awake? Wylan touched the note in his pocket.

As they passed the market where Genya once took pity on the human version of a half-starved puppy, he said, "Wait! Can we stop here? I'll be quick."

"You're hungry?"

"No…" Actually, he was, but that wasn't the point. "When they got me, Genya had sent me to the market. I want to bring back the groceries, I just need butter and…"

Wylan smoothed the note once more. He still hadn't made out that second list item. 

Agent Helvar didn't ask more. He parked and headed for the store with Wylan. Despite the past few months, Wylan was still used to being followed everywhere. Only now, he didn't try to pretend he was alone. Now he was glad to have the agent with him.

Wylan offered the note. "Can you tell me what this says?"

Asking for help made his heart race. It made him proud, because asking for help was hard and acknowledging his disability was hard. It made him embarrassed, because he couldn't decode that word.

"Chocolate chips."

Chocolate! That had been it!

"Thank you."

Wylan paid for the butter and chocolate chips, and pocketed the change to return to Genya like he was supposed to do two days ago.

He waited until they were back in the car to say, "I'm dyslexic."

Agent Helvar nodded. "I didn't know that."

"Nobody did. My father doesn't believe in that stuff. He said I just wasn't trying hard enough."

The agent gave a disapproving noise, but said nothing as he drove the last few blocks to Genya and David's. Wylan's heart thumped desperately as they walked past Genya's shop. He had walked this way so many times that it felt familiar; he had thought he might never walk here again, never see his parents again. A shiver went through him. Why did being here make Wylan want to cry in relief? He didn't know, he just knew that it did.

He hadn't taken his key when he left. He had a key, but he hadn't taken it with him because Genya was at home and the door wouldn't be locked. So now he knocked.

David opened the door a moment later, stood there in his rumpled flannel pants and sweatshirt, then turned and called, "Genya!"

Wylan had to smile. He knew the response would be confusing to Agent Helvar, but it was reassuring to Wylan. Same old David.

Then Wylan stepped inside, and David hugged him. For a moment Wylan didn't know what to do.  _ Does this mean you're my dad now? _ He didn't know how saying that would help and pressed his lips together hard to keep the words in. Then he put his arms around David. Wylan was more practiced at the gesture. David's hug was too tight, awkwardly set, like he wasn't sure how to do it. To Wylan, it meant more for the lack of finesse.    
  
David stepped back. He eyed Agent Helvar, then asked Wylan, "Do you trust him?"

"This is Agent Helvar. He's… I think he's my friend."

"Matthias," Agent Helvar said, offering his hand to David.

"It's probably nice to meet you, but there are between two and ten million bacteria on a human's fingertips."

"Matthias?"

Agent Helvar's first name was  _ Matthias? _ It was a fine name, Wylan was just surprised. He looked like a Jim or a Chris or something.

"Wylan!"

Genya had clearly just gotten out of bed. She wore leggings under her almost knee-length t-shirt, and her hair was in a messy ponytail, and Wylan couldn't imagine being happier to see anyone. She pulled him into a hug with considerably more expertise than David, but that same feeling that she was holding on to keep him from floating away.    
  
He didn't want to float away.   
  
"I'm so sorry," Wylan said.   
  
"Shh, you're home now."   
  
"I'm so sorry, there was a man, he, I didn't…"   
  
"It's okay, you're home. You're home."

She was holding him so tightly and Wylan didn't want her to stop. He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to cry. He didn't know how long they stood there together before he had the breath and sense to speak.   


"I missed you," Wylan said. "But I… I got the chocolate chips."

"Oh, good. That's what matters," Genya deadpanned.

"I used to have a normal life, you know," David remarked idly. Then he left the room, saying, "I'll make coffee. Then I'll call Nikolai."

Genya drew back and looked Wylan over, from his stupid preppy clothes to the butterfly closure stuck just over his eyebrow. Wylan looked away with a surge of shame.

"That man," Genya breathed.

"I'm home now," he reminded her.

"I need to contact the nearest field office," Agent Helvar said, "figure out where we go from here."   
  
"He can stay. We want him to stay, David and I do."

"Genya loves strays," Wylan said.

She shook her head. "He has spent entirely too much time around my husband," she complained with a huge smile. "Come on, I'm glad you're home but it's early and I need my coffee."

In the kitchen, David hugged Genya, then pressed a mug into her hands. There were four cups all told. When Wylan reached for his, Genya made a pained sound.   
  
"Sorry," Wylan said. He tugged his sleeve down to cover the red marks on his wrist. "It's not as bad as it looks."   
  
David took a deep sip of his coffee. Then he set down the mug and retrieved a first aid kit. The others had settled at the table by the time David finished washing his hands, Wylan between Genya and Agent Helvar.

"Well, one of you needs to move," David announced, "and it's not going to be Genya."

"He wants to take care of the abrasions on my wrists," Wylan explained. It was reason enough for Agent Helvar, who shifted to the next seat, though Wylan couldn't help noticing something different when David sat beside him. Something… he wasn't sure until he realized that, whether he realized it or not, David was sitting closer than he usually would, angling just a bit too far. Maybe intentionally, maybe on accident, David was putting himself between Wylan and a reminder of his old life.

Wylan unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves, keeping his wrists below the table so Genya wouldn't need to see the bruises and sores. They weren't so bad, really. He knew saying that wouldn't help.   
  
"Your hand," David said in a not-asking tone.   
  
Wylan offered his hand. The four sat quietly as David cleaned Wylan's wrists with disinfectant, applied Neosporin, and wrapped the damaged skin in soft bandages. They truly weren't so bad, but Wylan knew David was particular about injuries. Like Genya had said months ago, David didn't show his caring in the usual ways, but he showed it. Despite the sting of antiseptic, Wylan liked the feeling of being looked after.   
  
"Thank you," Wylan said. He wondered if David wanted to be his dad. Not that it was necessarily possible but…   
  
"Mhm."   
  
Genya looked away, shaking her head.   
  
"I could've avoided it," Wylan said, as much apologetic as defensive. He hadn't meant to upset her. They wouldn't have kept his hands tied if he hadn't tried to run. There would be bruises, but he could have avoided the worst of the injuries if he had just stayed put.   
  
The comment didn't help.   
  
"I didn't run away from you. I wouldn't do that."   
  
"Oh, kid, I never thought for a second that you would."

It wasn't long before Zoya arrived, Nikolai and Nina in tow. By then Agent Helvar—Matthias—had moved to Wylan's room for a hint of privacy as he explained the situation to the field office, so it was just Genya, David, and Wylan drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Not talking. Wylan wondered if Agent Helvar liked his mural. It was finished now, a multi-hued night sky with stars and puffy white clouds by the floor so he could look at it and imagine he was an astronaut. 

"Wylan!" Nina hugged him. It had only been two days… but Wylan had to admit, it was nice to come home to a warm welcome. 

"Hi, Nina," he mumbled into her chest. Behind them, he heard the adults exchange greetings, their voices a mix of tense, relieved, and happy.

" _ Wait _ until you see last night's Rachel Maddow, ooh she had stuff to say about you. You didn't make the comedy shows, it was too late, but I'm thinking SNL is still possible."

"Forgive my sister, she thinks she's from Los Angeles," Zoya drawled as Nikolai poured three cups of coffee. 

"Is there a Secret Service agent in your bathroom?" Nikolai asked.

"Wylan's bedroom," David replied.

Nikolai nodded. "So the Wylan Riley story is shredded."

"How did you know he's Secret Service?" Wylan asked.

"The car out front."

"He could be FBI."

"The FBI doesn't routinely guard the Vice President's family, Secret Service does."   
  
Wylan accepted that answer. "Can I borrow your phone?" he asked Nina.   
  
"I already texted him. Still need it?"   
  
"No, thank you." He was relieved, too. Jesper would have seen the cobbled-together best-Wylan-could-do mess of a text and known it was him. Jesper wouldn't have minded. Wylan still preferred not to do it.

Returning to the room, Agent Matthias Helvar (unable to think of him as just Matthias, Wylan compromised) said, "That's settled. Wylan stays in Secret Service protection until after the election. We'll coordinate with the field office in Des Moines." 

"I can't stay here?" Wylan asked. He had only just arrived! He thought… he thought he was home. Now he realized that was silly. Jan knew where he was, his safety, his home, that was gone. He had made it through the night and hopefully done damage enough to cost his father the election, he had come back, but the game was still afoot. Knowing that suddenly made him so tired.

"You can come back—"

"No," Genya interrupted, "you can't do this, it's cruel. This is Wylan's home."

"I know you've cared for him," Agent Matthias began.

"And never once smacked his face open and paraded him on national television like a trophy kill, but who's counting," Zoya added.

Wylan looked away.

There was a long, quiet moment. David went to brew another pot of coffee. Genya gave Agent Matthias a displeased look, and Zoya and Nikolai both looked ready to jump in on her behalf if needed. And even though Agent Matthias had the official backing of the United States government, if Wylan were a betting man, he would have put all his money behind Genya, Zoya, and Nikolai.

But it was Nina who broke the silence. "So this must be Agent Helvar," she said, giving him a long, appreciative look.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am."

"Nina, be nice," Wylan said. "This is my friend Nina, her sister Zoya, and Zoya's boyfriend Nikolai. And this is… this is Agent Matthias Helvar. I trust him."

In the next room, the door opened. Zoya asked, "Who is it now?"

Genya said, "Who do you think?"

Wylan was already out of his seat and bolting, ignoring Agent Matthias's call to stop. Wylan had every intention of stopping. Just as soon as he had his arms around Jesper, he would stop. Apparently Jesper had the same idea. They just stood there together, holding on tight. For the first time in days, Wylan felt… okay. Not the relieved he had felt when Genya and David hugged him, although that had been nice, too. Not the strange, terrifying swell of freedom he felt when Jan said Wylan was no longer his son. He just felt relieved, at ease with the familiarity of being beside Jesper.   
  
"Are you okay? I saw—you were bleeding, Wylan!"   
  
"It was nothing, I'm fine." Wylan felt Jesper shift, pull in air, prepare to argue, and he insisted, "I'm fine. He just hit me, it's not a big deal."   
  
He knew Jesper wouldn't like it. He didn't think any of them would like it, actually, but the fact was that it had only been a slap. 

"If you're going to keep this up, we need to get you microchipped," Jesper said. 

Wylan laughed. Trust Jesper to be ridiculous at a time like this! 

"I lost your shirt, the one I borrowed."

"The one you borrowed like two months ago?"

"Yeah. I lost it."

He would have worn it to the rally if he could. It was comforting. It reminded him of Jesper.

When they finally had to let go of each other, Wylan sheepishly and much belatedly said, "Good morning, Mister Fahey."

He didn't seem to mind. "Good morning, Wylan. Welcome home."

Genya was positively beaming at them, and Agent Matthias asked, "Is this the same boy from Des Moines?"

Wylan nodded. As impossible as it sounded, here he was, by some incredible stroke of luck. Here was the same boy who had seen Wylan and thought he was worth something before anybody else did and if one were looking for a sign that Wylan belonged here, surely Jesper as it!

"We haven't been introduced," said Jesper's father, offering his hand. "Colm Fahey. This is my son, Jesper."

Agent Matthias shook his hand. "Matthias Helvar. I guess you've already met Wylan."

"Once or twice," Colm confirmed. 

"You've come in at something of an awkward time," Nikolai said, "as we were just discussing where Wylan stays for the foreseeable future."

David cast a decidedly unpleasant look at Agent Matthias, who said, "We all want what's best for him. I can see you care about Wylan, but Secret Service custody isn't just the law, it's the best place for him. The safest place."

Having so much attention on him, being the center of an argument made Wylan drop his attention to his shoes. He didn't want to do this. It had never been his intention to cause a fuss. He just wanted to come home, to be home, to _stay_ home.

Almost gently, Colm said, "I believe you mean that, but take a look at the evidence, son." It was strange to hear, yet made perfect sense. Colm was older than the other adults in the room, only about a decade older than Genya and David, and Wylan had always known that. It only seemed to matter now as he realized that while everyone had their perspectives, most of the others were arguing as peers. Even Nikolai, in lawyer mode, spoke like a peer. Colm spoke with the authority of a man who had seen more and lived more than anyone else. He wasn't presenting an argument but a kind correction.

It wasn't long before Jesper, Nina, and Wylan ended up outside while the others talked. They knew it was about custody and where Wylan was going next, but for now, he just wanted to sit next to Jesper.   
  
"You lied about knowing secret agents," Jesper accused Wylan.   
  
"Secret service isn't the same as secret agents."

Nina filled Wylan in on the overall reaction to his stunt at the rally. Apparently one camera caught the slap, which had made its way around networks. Top Google searches for "Jan Van Eck ____" included "slap", "child abuse", and "resignation".

"He won't resign," Wylan said.

"No, but he won't be reelected," Nina said.    
  
Wylan nodded. "That's what matters." He needed to believe that. He  _ needed _ to, or what he had done had been pointless.    
  
"Look, everyone is condemning your father. I mean, technically, the President says there's probably two sides and Jan Van Eck is  _ a very fine person _ , but no one gives a damn. The House Minority Leader called his behavior reprehensible, Senate Majority Leader said it's completely inappropriate. Here."   
  
Nina had been scrolling through YouTube videos; she passed her phone to Wylan.   
  
_ "Thanks to you at home for joining us this hour. Today was a big day for news, it's a Friday, it's four days away from the election, but I want to start off by mentioning something that just happened, the scoop we're all going to be talking about tomorrow. At tonight's Van Eck rally, the Vice President was recorded… abusing his son. I don't know what else to call it. They were at the Hope Theatre, Van Eck brought his son out, his son walked off the stage, Van Eck followed him and hit him. Hard enough that he was bleeding when Van Eck then led his son back onto the stage to deliver a speech, which is what he did. Um, this is… this is not what we expect to see in politics, maybe it shouldn't be surprising given this administration, but it still… is. This happened, there is incontrovertible video evidence, and, Wylan Van Eck, if you're seeing this, I hope you're okay. Hang in there. It gets better. Okay, lots to get to tonight!" _

Wylan felt his face heat with a blush at the knowledge that the whole country had seen his father hitting him, but he couldn't deny that he felt a little better hearing a queer adult tell him, like she was actually telling _him_ , that it would get better. He still had the now to deal with. But there was an after now.

By the time the front door opened again, the trio had drawn a hopscotch grid with the chalk Nina brought over, and Wylan had just started his turn. He went third, as he always did—first Nina and Jesper spelled out the word so Wylan knew what he was looking at, then he hopped the grid, trying to match their words to the shapes in front of him.   
  
"...s-s-h-o—"   
  
Wylan didn't get any further. He looked up at the sound of the opening door and Agent Matthias stood there, watching him, and seeing his past and present selves collide made Wylan's brain skip like a scratched record. He had never actually heard a record played, but his grandma used to say that and it had stuck with him.   
  
Wylan lost his balance and hit the driveway. "I… we…"   
  
"It is very kind of your friends to help you with your homework," Agent Matthias said. His tone and his half-smile suggested he knew perfectly well what was going on, or at least he knew it wasn't homework.   
  
"Yep, that's what's going on here," Jesper agreed, helping Wylan to his feet. "Just some crazy kids doing homework!"   
  
"You can continue studying later. For now, we need to see Wylan inside."   
  
Wylan nodded to show that he understood and headed inside. Jesper and Nina followed, Nina shamelessly commenting that Agent Matthias looked like he worked out. Wylan caught Jesper's eye and they both smiled. Finally, someone for Nina to flirt with—though her skills appeared rusty.   
  
There was no room in the house that could comfortably accommodate nine people, so everyone was crowded into the kitchen. Wylan took a spot standing in the corner by the sink. Jesper stood next to him, an arm around his waist. Maybe that wasn't Jesper's way of saying,  _ he's here and you can't take him away, _ but Wylan liked to think it was. He gripped a handful of Jesper's shirt. It wouldn't really stop anything. If Agent Matthias said he had to go… well, he represented the government. His word was basically law.   
  
Wylan looked around the room, scanning the adults' expression for any clue and finding none. Genya didn't look happy, but she didn't look miserable, either. David looked glumly uncomfortable. That was what Wylan expected from David with this many people crammed into one room. If Wylan had doubted how David felt about him, he had his answer now.   
  
"As the Vice President's son," Agent Matthias said, and Wylan pressed closer to Jesper, "Wylan is required to have a Secret Service detail."   
  
"What if I don't want one?" Wylan asked.   
  
"It's not yours to decide—"   
  
"But I hate him! He sent me to that place, he c… he…" Wylan shook his head. Why was his father's title the most important thing? Sure, Jan was Vice President, but he was a bad father.    
  
"If you take him away, you'll be taking him from his home," Jesper said, "and people who care about him, just because Jan Van Eck has money and power."   
  
"No one's talking about taking Wylan away," Genya said. "He's going to stay here with us, at least for now. There are—things we can't protect him from. The President's supporters have already shown they can be violent and Wylan antagonized a lot of them last night."   
  
"How dare he be abused by his father," Nina drawled, rolling her eyes.   
  
"Terrible manners," Zoya agreed.   
  
Wylan had always just accepted that they were related, supposed they looked similar enough, but now he saw it. They snarked and grinned at each other, and they might have been twins. Same gleam in their eyes. Same dimples.   
  
"But I can stay?" he asked Genya.   
  
"If your father is reelected, that will complicate things. Let's focus on the next week, all right?"   
  
Wylan didn't like it. He didn't like the maybe, the sense he'd had a reprieve and nothing more, but if all he had was a week… then at least he had a week, he supposed. At least he had that.   
  
"So what I'm hearing," Jesper said, "is that it's time for a week-long sleepover?"   
  


* * *

  
  
By that evening, Wylan was wrung out. The events of the past three days felt like a long nightmare, one he didn’t fully understand and just wanted to escape. This wasn’t an escape, though. This was a reprieve. All day he found himself catching Genya’s eyes on him and knew she was thinking the same. He was home. They just didn’t know for how long. 

He wanted to close his eyes and make all of this disappear for a little while. It helped, a bit, to put on his pajamas and huddle under the covers in his bed; it helped to be in his own bedroom, a place untainted by his father, lying on the outer space sheets Jesper had chosen for him and looking at his outer space mural.

Wylan squeezed his eyes shut. If Jan saw Wylan again, he would kill him. Jan must hate him now—why did that bother Wylan? Jan seemed to have hated him for years. Maybe it was the look on his father’s face after the rally. Perhaps there had been contempt before, but it had been tempered by some version of love. That love was gone now.

A knock at the door shook Wylan out of his thoughts.

"Come in!"

He sat up and scrubbed his face on his sleeve, pushed himself to his feet. Whatever Genya needed, he was prepared to help. A small part of him hoped she was just checking up on him.

"Oh."

"May I come in?"

"Yeah, of course. I just—I wasn’t…"

"You were expecting Genya," David supplied.

Wylan nodded. It wasn't that he didn't want to see David. He was only surprised.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

"No, go ahead."

David sat on the edge of the bed. Wylan sat nearby but not quite next to him, knees hugged up to his chest.

"Agent Helvar thinks you’re prepared to kill yourself."

Whatever Wylan expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Nor was the remark entirely inaccurate. He hadn’t made a plan, but last night, he had been prepared to end his life. He just thought this father would do the actual labor of it. Hearing it addressed so openly took his breath away. A part of Wylan cringed in anticipation.

"I think I’ve made clear my opinion on the matter previously and that hasn’t changed. It would be highly preferable if you did not kill yourself. Genya is very… fond of hypotheticals. When she imagined our son, she said he would be brilliant like me with a good heart like her. It didn’t happen in the way she intended, but Genya does tend to be inexplicably correct. You’re the son we wanted. Whatever happens, Genya and I love you."

When David started speaking, that was not the conclusion Wylan expected him to reach. Indeed the entire speech had been a roller coaster, from shock to wariness, to the emotional anvil to the chest of hearing the closest thing he had to a father say words Wylan had longed to hear. It was too much for him after such a difficult few days. He was just tired, was all. He was so, so tired.

"Don’t," he said. "Don’t lie to me about that."

He knew David was only saying it because he didn’t want Wylan to kill himself. It was nice that David wanted Wylan to stay alive. He appreciated that. He didn’t need lies that would hurt more if Wylan even halfway believed them.

And he wanted to believe them.

Affronted, David said, "I never lie."

"I  _ know _ I’m not what you and Genya wanted," Wylan objected. "It’s okay. It’s okay that I’m good enough for now." That was a hell of a lot more than his father had ever felt about him.

"You are not." Wylan wasn’t sure he had ever heard David angry with him, but that was definitely an angry note creeping in now. "You’re not what we wanted before because we didn’t know you were an option. I love Genya more than anything. She’s the smartest, strongest, bravest person I know, and I couldn’t imagine anyone being good enough who wasn’t made from her. I don’t like being wrong, but I was. You’re good enough for her. Genya can tell you herself, but though I might not express it like other people, I know what I feel. I know when I care about someone. If there’s anything we can do that would help you through this," David concluded, "we’ll—oh, no. Genya!" he called. "I’ve done it wrong!"

"No," Wylan objected, sniffling.

It was a small house and Genya was there moments later.

"I’m okay," Wylan said, but that was less convincing since he couldn’t stop crying to say it.

Genya didn’t ask for permission; she sat beside Wylan and put her arms around him.

"David," she said, "get some tissues."

"Don’t!" Without thinking, Wylan reached out and grabbed David’s sleeve. He didn’t touch his skin and withdrew a moment later, embarrassed. "You didn’t do it wrong. Please don’t go."

Maybe he wouldn’t have cried if he hadn’t been so exhausted already. It was just like the night at Zoya’s, the feeling of putting down something heavy he had carried for far too long, of dropping his guard because he finally could. Any chance Wylan had of controlling himself disappeared when he felt a hesitant, awkward touch on his hair and realized it was David.

"I’m sorry," Wylan said, but he didn’t try to stop crying. He knew he couldn’t.

Wylan was almost asleep when Genya guided him to lie down and pulled the covers over him. A distant part of Wylan wanted to be embarrassed; a distant part of him heard his father's derision. He was 17. He wasn't a child. He didn't need a mommy to tuck him into bed. But something about the way Genya settled the covers and smoothed a hand over his hair made Wylan feel safe.

"I don’t wanna go," he told her. 

"We don't want you to go, either. We’ll do everything we can to keep you."


	31. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a bit of a scramble to get this all edited and posted up today so I apologize for lack of responses to your reviews at the moment, but thanks to those of you who are leaving them! And a particular shoutout to Dayanna Cahill Fray Chase. You called it ;)

WYLAN

  
Wylan set down the pizza box. There was nowhere else but the pavement, so he set it there, then held it open and snapped a picture. He texted it to Kaz. He didn't include any words with it. The visible presence of pineapple should make the meaning clear enough.  
  
Kaz opened the door a moment later. He took in the sight in front of him: Wylan, head tucked low against the wind, holding a box of pineapple pizza, with two Secret Service agents behind him. He wasn't the most sociable guy in the world and Wylan knew Kaz was also not someone to drop in on. Yet he had done just that and now stood here, holding a peace offering and trusting Kaz to understand.  
  
"Okay," Kaz said.  
  
Wylan followed Kaz up to his apartment. Agent Matthias waited just outside the apartment door; Wylan sworn up and down that Kaz meant him no harm, but Agent Matthias still gave him a warning look.  
  
"His bark is worse than his bite," Wylan promised.  
  
"You’ve never seen my bite," Kaz replied, to which Wylan just rolled his eyes.  
  
Kaz set the pizza box on the counter and grabbed a slice. The apartment was barely warmer than outside; they kept their coats on. Wylan removed his mittens, but wasn't surprised when Kaz continued wearing his gloves. He wondered idly what Kaz did when the cold was too much. Those gloves were the same pair he had worn all summer, so they couldn't provide much heat. Did he wear mittens over his gloves?  
  
"How much was real?" he asked.   
  
"Most of it," Wylan acknowledged.   
  
He was never sure if Kaz's place was tidy or Kaz just didn't own much. His duvet was scrunched on half of his couch, laptop open on the coffee table. His mug was on the coffee table, too. Kaz owned four mugs, but Wylan had only ever seen him use the green one.  
  
Kaz asked, "How much was planned?"  
  
"Almost none."  
  
Kaz nodded. He munched on his pizza, either thoughtfully or simply enjoying it, with Kaz it was hard to tell.   
  
Everyone thought they knew the truth about what happened in the theater. Everyone had seen it, heard about it. Everyone in the country, hell, everyone in the damn world knew that American Vice President Jan Van Eck had slapped his son’s face and made him bleed.  
  
It made Wylan feel stripped naked. He felt like this whole year had been one removal after another of the protective layers he kept around himself, of his privacy. He was—  
  
gay—  
  
dyslexic—  
  
dysgraphic—  
  
abused—  
  
He was Wylan Van Eck. Everyone knew that now, too. School that day had been ridiculous. He insisted on going back, said he wanted normalcy and couldn't afford to miss more of his classes. Somehow he hadn't realized that his identity would be all the gossip. A few of the guys at school tried to be his friends. Wylan was polite to them, but not kind. He told himself he didn't care as long as they were done shoving him and calling him a girl. A few of the girls tried to be his friend, but that seemed to be mostly out of pity. Even some of the teachers looked at him differently!  
  
Every truth Wylan tried to hide about himself had been undone, but constructing a new lie felt different. He felt… dirty, maybe, or corrupted. He felt like he was hiding something ugly instead of just something shameful.  
  
"I wouldn't have done it if it weren't for you!" he accused, surprised by his own anger. "I wouldn't have. You got in my head. _You_ were the one saying we had to do something, not just talk, not just vote. _You_ were the one—"  
  
"And you were the one who said you would do anything," Kaz reminded Wylan.   
  
"I'm the one who did."  
  
Kaz nodded.  
  
Wylan was quiet a moment. _He was the one who did,_ and it left him wondering just what and who he was and wanted to be.  
  
"The call was you, wasn’t it? You prank called my father."  
  
"If you had answered like you were supposed to, I would have given the phone to Jesper."  
  
Wylan overlooked the fact that he was, somehow, _supposed to_ have known about Kaz calling him. He appreciated that they tried.   
  
"He hit me," Wylan said, "but he's done that for years and no one cared. I didn't think it would be enough. You were right. I had to do something. I was there and I could, and they're doing terrible things. I could have done what he wanted and been a part of that or done what I did and stopped it."  
  
"What did you do, exactly?" Kaz asked.   
  
"I had a staple in my pocket. I cut my head and I made myself cry."  
  
Wylan learned a long time ago not to cry in front of his father. Jan didn't like things that were messy and disruptive. It hadn't been enough for him to smack his son. That had never been enough. No one had ever stopped it. They needed his body broken and his dignity cracked, and Wylan gave them what they needed.   
  
Kaz had finished the cheesy part of his pizza. He regarded Wylan thoughtfully, took a bite of the crust and chased it with whatever was in the green mug, then said, "You do understand that your father abused you?"  
  
Wylan nodded. He still didn't _like_ it, but he had heard it enough that the word no longer startled him. He could accept what had happened to him.  
  
"Did he ever make you cry?"  
  
"I learned not to."  
  
Kaz fixed his dark eyes on Wylan, something that made Wylan want to squirm. He forced himself to be still.  
  
"Yes," Wylan admitted, "when I was younger."  
  
"Everything that's ever happened to you happened 'when you were younger'," Kaz replied.  
  
That was true and obvious and somehow unsettling enough to make Wylan pause and think.   
  
"Are you having any?" Kaz asked, indicating the pizza, and Wylan took a slice without thinking, thanked Kaz without thinking, and he was standing there with a slice of the pineapple pizza he had brought trying to determine a reasonable answer to a question that shouldn't have been so complicated.  
  
"When I was—when I was considerably younger, I cried," he amended. "But I learned not to. Everyone learns not to cry when they grow up."  
  
"Did he ever make you bleed?"  
  
Wylan paused to consider that. Honestly, Jan's abuse had been minor when one considered what other people went through. He said hurtful things and smacked Wylan. It wasn't _abuse_ abuse. Jan rarely made him bleed, but he had given Wylan a couple of bloody noses several years ago. Jan wasn't the kind of dad who interacted much with his son, he didn't initially grasp the difference in his adult strength and Wylan's child body.  
  
"There was a learning curve."  
  
"So he made you bleed and he made you cry. Call it a recreation of historical events if it makes you feel better," Kaz said. He finished his second slice of pizza, cleaned his gloves on a tea towel, and tossed himself down on the couch. He stretched his leg out on a pillow, rubbing his calf.  
  
Wylan sighed. He grabbed a paper towel for his pizza and went to sit down.   
  
"That's not the point, Kaz."  
  
"Then what is?"  
  
"I lied," Wylan said. "It's not about him, everything doesn't have to be about him. I told the whole world I'm weak. They needed to see a victim, so I showed them a victim. Now everyone thinks I'm some sweet kid who needs protecting."  
  
"Your pride, then," Kaz said.  
  
Wylan wasn't sure if that was it, either.  
  
"I lied," Wylan repeated.  
  
"Not really. Eat your pizza," Kaz instructed, and Wylan took a bite without thinking. He was surprised to find that the pineapple pizza, while unpleasant, wasn't horrible. It wasn't _kale_. He had endured kale with a smile on his face. Pineapple pizza was weird, but not gross. "Your father is every bit the monster you showed him to be. You simply contrived the scene to the appropriate timing. You're upset you had to compromise your morals, which were absurd to begin with. This is what you wanted, Wylan. Your father is disgraced, he won't win reelection, and no one but you had to suffer for it."  
  
Wylan supposed that was true. He hadn't wanted anyone else to get hurt, and they hadn't. He had wanted his father disgraced, and that was done. But people were being so… _kind_. Agent Matthias risked his career to bring Wylan home. Jesper was even less keen than usual on letting go of Wylan. Even Nina asked how he was doing every time she saw Wylan and had texted to check in. The only people who hadn't changed were Zoya and David.  
  
"We hope he won't win," Wylan pointed out. The election was still two more days away.  
  
Kaz nodded. "Probably not. Thanks to you."  
  
"But it's not _honest_ ," he finally concluded. "I'm not who they think."  
  
"I'm not a therapist," Kaz said. His voice was rough with distaste. As he settled his computer on his lap, he said, "If you don't know who you are, that's your own problem."  
  
Wylan understood he had been dismissed. He sighed. Before he left, he threw away the paper towel he had placed under his pizza, rinsed his hands, and put the leftovers in the fridge. What was he going to do? Talking to Kaz had been enlightening, but only enough to raise more questions, and Wylan still wasn't sure how he felt aside from 'conflicted'.  
  
"Are you warm enough, Kaz?"  
  
Kaz waved him off. This time, Wylan took his cue to leave.  
  
He went directly home. Genya would have preferred he not leave at all, and even though Wylan had protection this time, he couldn't fault her. He knew she didn't know what to do. Being a mom didn't come with instructions, and after so long and so much emotion around the idea of a baby, she wound up with a 17-year-old.  
  
Though it wasn’t far, Wylan told Agent Matthias, "I’m sorry about the cold. Kaz sometimes… I just needed…"  
  
"You don’t have to explain yourself to me," Agent Matthias reminded him.  
  
True, but that didn’t mean he _shouldn’t_. Wylan kept his mouth shut.  
  
Things were different between them now. Agent Helvar was still professional and Wylan still felt safe with him, but he was more personal. He had shown Wylan pictures of his dog and whether he liked to admit it or not, he had definitely been responsive to Nina’s flirting. By mutual unspoken agreement, they had _not_ discussed the photos floating around of Jan Van Eck with bruising on his face, that little detail for which Agent Matthias was still technically in trouble. Wylan had asked for him to stay, though. He had spoken to a supervisor in Des Moines, swallowed hard and admitted what his father did to him not only the night before. For now, they stayed together. 

But boundaries were still there. When they reached David and Genya’s, Agent Matthias sat out in the ridiculously big SUV. Wylan had slept in those seats and knew they were comfortable enough, but still felt awkward about it. Not that he knew the solution. This was the only way he could be both protected and given time with his family.  
  
Wylan stepped inside and shrugged off his coat. He had been distracted and not taken his hat, which he now regretted. He rubbed his ears. _As cold as Kaz's heart,_ Jesper would say. That wasn’t strictly accurate, though, was it?  
  
Genya was on the couch, working on sewing a decorative edging at the bottom of a skirt. It wasn't exactly tailoring, she had explained, but sometimes there was no harm in making something beautiful. When Wylan sat next to her, she put her work aside to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He snuggled close, knowing full well it was childish and not caring. It made Genya happy.  
  
"Did you get what you needed?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Wylan admitted.  
  
"This is why it's important to formulate questions first," David offered. He was reading a book on data analysis; he had told Wylan about it, enough that Wylan planned to listen to the audiobook when he could.  
  
He couldn't argue about the questions.  
  
"I… I lied," Wylan said. Genya might hate him, but he had to say it. "I didn't have to cry that night, I know how to stop myself. I did it on purpose. He didn't even make me bleed. His ring is on the other hand. It was just a, a cheap political stunt."  
  
Whatever it made Genya and David think of him, Wylan decided, it was better out in the open. He had told Kaz that the trouble was the lie. He didn't want to lie to them. Even if it made them angry, it was better to be honest. Right?  
  
"Oh, Wylan," Genya said, but she still had her arm around him.  
  
"'Cheap' is objective," David pointed out. Wylan supposed it was, but was that really the most important thing? "He did kidnap you. Of course there's no objective comparable value but that seems like a high price."  
  
Wylan hadn't thought about it that way. "Is it really kidnapping, though? He is my father, he…"  
  
He didn't say it. Genya heard it anyway.   
  
"He doesn't own you."  
  
Wylan didn't argue.  
  
"What happened?" David asked. He put aside his book, placing a bookmark because he found it extremely distasteful that anyone would leave a book open and facedown. It destroyed the binding.  
  
Wylan hadn't needed to tell anyone what happened. They saw him on national television so they knew he was with his father again.  
  
"There was a man looking for his dog. He didn't really have a dog. He…" The words wouldn't come. Wylan lifted his shirt instead, showing the scab where one of his father's men had cut him. It wasn't a big scab, anyway, barely more than a couple of inches. The scabs at the corners of his mouth were more annoying, the ones left by the gag. Between those scabs and the bruises on his wrists, and the hidden bruise over his ribs that Jan delivered personally after he spoke to Kaz, Wylan had come out of the experience with an awful lot of marks for such a brief time. "They, um, they tied my hands and put something in my mouth so, um, so I couldn't… you know, scream or anything, and they put me in a van. On the floor. But that was only to get me to him."  
  
Genya was shivering the way a person does when they're trying not to cry. Wylan wanted to apologize, but he didn't think that would help, so he kissed her cheek. She gave him a tight, brief smile.  
  
David said, "That's kidnapping."  
  
"It's not," Wylan insisted. It was his father. A father couldn't kidnap his own son, could he?  
  
"Yes, it is." David wasn't arguing an experience so much as a fact; he sounded genuinely confused. Maybe by the exact dictionary definition it counted as kidnapping…  
  
"No, because he's my father."  
  
"It—"  
  
"David, would you make some tea?" Genya asked.  
  
David went to make the tea.  
  
"I didn't mean to antagonize him."  
  
"It's not you and he's not upset, you two just have different perspectives. You know David isn't trying to replace Jan."  
  
"Yeah, that's why he doesn't hit me and call me names."  
  
Wylan told himself he was finished defending his father. That was what Jan Van Eck had done. Maybe Wylan had a part of the same monstrousness inside him, but that didn't excuse Jan's behavior any. At least some of it, some just made sense.  
  
"I felt like I was dying," Wylan said. "Like… everything I learned to be here was going away and I was going to be hollow again."   
  
He'd had a nightmare about it last night. He hadn't told anyone, because it was only half a nightmare and half… well… he had dreamed about Jesper. It was a good dream first, but then Wylan had taken off his shirt and when Jesper put his hand on Wylan's chest, his palm was so hot it burned Wylan's skin to ashes, and there was nothing inside Wylan, so he crumbled up and blew away.  
  
But it was only a dream. It wasn't real.  
  
Wylan shifted to get the note from his pocket. "I was thinking about you," he said, offering it to Genya. "I know you're not trying to replace my other parents, but it wouldn't—if they decide I can stay with you, it would be okay if you wanted to."  
  
Genya unfolded the note, read it over, and began to cry. She said his name and she cried.  
  
Over tea, they talked about the future. They said "if" and "in case"; they didn't know how much time they would have if the worst happened, if seeing the Vice President for the monster that he was dissuaded too few people from voting for him.  
  
Genya said she wanted Wylan to think about seeing a therapist. It felt very much out of the blue, yet a coincidence after what Kaz had said.  
  
"You need to talk about these things," she said, "about what your father did."  
  
"I'm not crazy."  
  
"It doesn't mean you're crazy. It means you're hurting. I saw someone after my hysterectomy, it really helped."  
  
Maybe, Wylan thought, maybe, but it would mean acknowledging that the words—words he was still learning to accept, that he could say even if they gave him a shiver like "abuse" and "dyslexia"; words he couldn't bear to brush up against like "kidnap" and "homophobia"—were a part of him.   
  
There were a lot of maybes.


	32. Election Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Election night (not joking. This was fucking painful to write.) (More cussing than usual, too.)
> 
> Outside of the Jan Van Eck stuff, all the political references in this story are real. The stuff Kaz claims the current administration has done? Tip of the iceberg. Fictional answers to real problems.

JESPER  
  
  
  


  
Nine Saturdays, that was how much time Jesper spent volunteering. It felt like so much more. There had been nine Saturdays knocking on doors, plus a few hours of phone calls each week. There had been decompression sessions with Nina, ranting out their frustrations. There had been one soul-restoring Saturday when he felt on the verge of utterly losing it, in Wylan's bedroom after volunteering, when Jesper had been just… falling apart.  
  
 _How do I help?_ Wylan had asked.  
  
Jesper hadn't known.  
  
 _Can I kiss you?_ Wylan had asked.  
  
Jesper knew the answer to that one. It had been such a horrible day. Some of the doors they knocked on, they bumped into people with differences of opinion. Some people were just stupid. This one was a racist asshole who had probably never before seen anyone darker than a Triscuit yet still felt comfortable repeating the President’s assessment El Salvador, Haiti, and various African countries back in 2018. To Jesper’s face.  
  
They didn’t finish their doors that day. They went home early. Jesper stayed with Wylan, not ready to go home this way. And Wylan wanted to kiss him.  
  
He had said no. _Don't kiss me because you feel sorry for me.  
  
I don't feel sorry for you._  
  
 _Don't kiss me to distract me.  
  
Can I kiss you because I want you to be happy? Can I kiss you because I want to kiss you?_  
  
It didn't make the day any better. For that, Jesper had needed to speak to someone with more life experience and insight—but Wylan had taken his mind off things. Wylan had sent him home feeling good instead of angry, and because of that, Jesper was able to have a reasonable conversation with his da. Jesper knew he needed to be careful. He could get as hooked on a person as he could on a drug. He could use a person, especially a vulnerable person, just as easily as he could use a drug.  
  
He had _cared_ about this election. He cared because of how wrong the actions of the current administration were. He cared because Jan Van Eck couldn't win. He didn't want to live in a world, he wouldn't let Wylan live in a world where Jan Van Eck _won_.  
  
It was weirdly easier to deal with hating Jan Van Eck. The President was a proudly racist, Nazi-praising, woman-assaulting monster. It all felt too big sometimes. This was simple. Jan Van Eck had abused the boy Jesper loved. Simple. Personal. And Jesper could do something about that. He didn’t have to be alone with his feelings, but present to assuage Wylan’s.  
  
Nina had invited them over to watch the coverage on election night.  
  
It was the first night Jesper spent away from his da since he came home from rehab. He had been out late a few times, but usually when he was late, Da could call Genya and David, check up. Jesper didn't exactly like that. It tended to interrupt some deep cuddling. But it was a little more trust.  
  
When he asked about an overnight at Zoya's, his da looked deeply dubious.  
  
There wasn't much Jesper could think of to say that would make it better. Nina was an addict, too, his friend from rehab. Wylan was his boyfriend. Drugs _and_ sex, every parent's dream for their son!  
  
"Nina doesn't use. She doesn't even drink. I mean, she eats too much candy instead, but she's sober, she tests every month, just like me. Zoya will be there the whole time. Secret Service, too."  
  
He didn't know if either of those facts helped. He didn't know why. All Jesper had to do was promise to text every hour until 11 and call at any time he felt like he might use drugs or alcohol.  
  
"Every hour, Jesper."  
  
"I will. I promise."  
  
Jesper had fulfilled his promise for two hours. No results had been called, but a surprising amount of homework had been done. They had agreed to hear the potentially devastating news in the least awful way: by watching Stephen Colbert's coverage. Four years ago, Nina claimed she had watched him get completely drunk as she, too, made herself thoroughly inebriated, and Jesper briefly wondered if he needed to go home. Tonight was going to be too stressful for him to be around _anything_ ; he was already on edge. Luckily Nina had clarified that she would be staying sober tonight.  
  
The first results came in just after six p.m. The four of them were gathered in the living room. Nina was sipping soda through a frozen licorice stick. Kaz, in an armchair, looked up grimly from his laptop. On the couch, Wylan wrapped his arms around himself. Jesper wasn't borrowing any trouble; they would deal with a Republican victory—somehow—if it happened. But he wasn't turning down an excuse to cuddle Wylan close to him, either.  
  
"It'll be okay," he promised.  
  
"Time to see if we fucked these Republicans up right," Kaz said.  
  
They call Kentucky for the Republicans and Vermont for the Democrats.  
  
"We're losing," Wylan said.  
  
"Well," Nina reasoned, "not if you include New York and California." Neither state's results had been called, but unless Hell actually froze over, they would both go for Democrats. "Besides, it's the first results. Chill."  
  
"Wy has no chill," Jesper said.  
  
"This isn't the time for chill," Kaz replied savagely.  
  
It sort of was, though. Polls hadn't closed in most states, were nowhere near closing on the Pacific Coast. The four of them, sprawled around the room, had hours to kill. So they talked about work and school. They played a few rounds of slapjack.  
  
Nina brought out food she had made a desperate drive to Coralville to obtain.  
  
"You've lived in real cities, right, Kaz? Wylan?" Nina asked.  
  
"Excuse me, I've been to Miami!" Jesper objected. "Miami is a real city."  
  
Wylan shook his head. "I wasn't—my father didn't like me going places alone. He didn't want me to be mugged or get lost or anything."  
  
Jesper focused his attention on his dinner rather than respond. He, Wylan, and Nina had opted for sitting on the floor clustered around the coffee table; Kaz, in deference to his leg, had pulled up a chair. The election tonight had huge consequences globally, nationally, and personally, and they had all done all they could to prevent the worst from happening. Sitting here with his friends and his boyfriend, Jesper felt like it could almost be a party.  
  
Almost.  
  
Wylan's explanations for his father's mistreatment stung, though. Jesper just didn't want the fight. He didn't want to hurt Wylan by being the one to tell him that he wasn't dumb or incompetent, he could read a map. Couldn't he? There weren't a lot of words—maybe it wouldn't even matter _if Jan Van Eck got Wylan the right support in the start_.  
  
"What's it called?" Jesper asked.  
  
"Chicken tikka masala," Nina said slowly. It was the third time she had needed to tell them. "From Trader Joe's and your lives are incomplete with Trader Joe's."  
  
Kaz turned up the volume on the TV; they all understood another announcement was coming.  
  
"...West Virginia and South Carolina have been called, both Republican-leaning states…"  
  
"They may have been insufficiently fucked up," Nina murmured, tearing open a packet of Hostess CupCakes.  
  
Jesper looked at Wylan for a moment. Wylan's attention was fixed on the plate in front of him, so Jesper prolonged his look. Wylan had defined the past year for Jesper, had given him something to feel excited about when his life seemed dull and cramped, had helped him focus enough that already Jesper's grades showed a marked improvement. He had brought pain, too, but none of that was Wylan's fault: the leaked photos, Wylan disappearing without a word, none of that had been within his control. It was just cruel that Van Eck sent his son away when Jesper and Wylan should have dealt with the fallout together. That was the deal. They should have at least had each other.  
  
Jesper had dated before, but never felt the way he did about Wylan. Those feelings were part of the reason his da started talking about Ma again. Jesper hadn't asked and Colm hadn't offered because it hurt too much for them both. It turned out, talking about her made them both feel better. It soothed a pain Jesper had felt so long he hadn't noticed until it started to go away.  
  
What happened if Van Eck won? Did Wylan disappear again? He was still a wealthy, powerful, connected man who knew enough about his son's location to kidnap him. Did losing really render Jan Van Eck no longer a problem?  
  
Jesper thought he could handle it if Wylan left him, but not if Wylan was taken away from him. He didn't think he was strong enough to know there was someone out there he was crazy about, who was crazy about him, but they couldn't see each other—Jesper didn't think he could know that and still be okay.  
  
Seven p.m., an hour after the first results, the tide began to shift. Democrats were up by 43 electoral votes. The other party was looking, Kaz estimated, cautiously but mightily fucked.  
  
Jesper had expected that to relax Wylan some. Instead he sat rigid, eyes fixed on the screen.  
  
Jesper wanted to care as much as his friends did—he _cared_ was much as his friends did! But while Wylan, Nina, and Kaz sat with their full attention on the screen, Jesper poked at his homework. He went up to Nina's room and brought her DS back to the living room, trained her Pokemon until Van Eck took Arkansas, Alabama, and Kansas.  
  
He expected Wylan to be upset. Maybe scared. If Wylan faltered and needed someone to hold him, Jesper was more than happy to do that. He wasn't one for sitting still, but somehow he didn't mind if he had Wylan to fidget with, and Wylan didn't mind Jesper's hands in his hair or over his own small hands.  
  
Instead of scared, though, Wylan looked… furious.  
  
"Wy?" Jesper asked.  
  
"Pace yourself," Kaz said.  
  
"What will it _take_ ," Wylan spat, shivering furiously. "What do they want?"  
  
"It's not personal," Nina said. "I get it. Everything they say about women, it's hard not to feel like it's about me. But—"  
  
"But it is about me," Wylan said. "They saw what he is!"  
  
Jesper pulled Wylan close and rubbed his arm. He understood. He kept it to himself, but it felt like this was about him, too. About his family's history, about his heritage, his sexual orientation, he felt like this election was a referendum on so many pieces of him.  
  
Kaz offered, "Maybe they didn't see the news because they were too busy taking meth and humping their sisters."  
  
Jesper and Nina turned to him, somehow shocked. Jesper resisted the urge to place his hands over Wylan's ears—Wylan had probably heard worse, Jesper just wanted to protect him from _something_ , even if that something was Kaz being a jackass.  
  
"Does that help?" Jesper asked.  
  
Kaz leaned forward. "They put their electoral support behind a man who used chemical weapons against refugees. Does pretending they deserve respect help?"  
  
"It's not all of them," Nina said, uncharacteristically jumping to the neutral side. "That's part of the problem with the winner-take-all electoral system. If 49% of Alabama voters are decent people, it doesn't matter because the other 51% voted for Cheeto Voldemort and his Vice Gay-Basher." Ah, now there was the sharp Nina he knew and loved! She gave Wylan a sympathetic look. "Sorry. It's what Trevor Noah called him."  
  
Wylan shrugged. "Fits," he muttered. "I'm his gay. He bashed me."  
  
"Hey," Jesper murmured. He didn't like this Wylan. He didn't like Wylan sounding so resigned. It was like a light had gone out inside of him.  
  
"People still support him. What was the point if they still… why did I..."  
  
"It's just three states of 51% dumbasses," Nina said, "with 21 electoral votes between them. That's, what, two percent of the country?"  
  
Jesper felt how much Wylan struggled with that answer. It sounded small—only 2% of the country thinks it's okay for your father to hit you! And Jesper knew it wasn't like that, he knew it was about Wylan _for them_ but about broader issues for other voters. (Broader issues on which he disagreed with them, but that wasn't the point.)  
  
"If this doesn't change their minds," Kaz said, "nothing will. Wylan should matter to them. He's a Midwest-born, English-speaking white boy with no public vices."  
  
"Kaz," Nina objected.  
  
"The Central American families being split up at the border weren't enough because they're foreign-born and the wrong color. The deaths of Ukranians when he held up aid weren't enough because they're foreign-born and the Republican party implicated them in election meddling. Falsely, of course. But not Wylan. He looks like the future Republicans want."  
  
Wylan pointed out, "I'm gay."  
  
Kaz shrugged. "You never came out publicly. They can keep pretending you're their poster boy."  
  
"Not _all_ Republicans are racists homophobes, you know," Wylan objected.  
  
"No, they're indifferent to racism and homophobia if it means a tax cut because they ignore what it means for minorities, and you're the liberal equivalent. You're so desperate not to acknowledge what they support by voting for men like your father. Anyone who votes for a Republican, knowing what we know, is an accessory, and you're going to _kindness_ your way back to ice baths and electroshock treatments."  
  
Before Jesper realized what Kaz meant, Wylan was on his feet. Jesper reacted on instinct. He wrapped an arm around Wylan and pulled him back while Nina put herself between Kaz and Wylan. Though he hadn't made the same furious, dramatic moves, Kaz had that dangerous look on his face, his hand on his cane.  
  
"I'm okay," Wylan said.  
  
"Let's go for a walk," Jesper suggested. He couldn't stay and watch the votes tick in and Wylan needed some fresh air.  
  
"I'm fine," Wylan protested.  
  
" _You_ might be, but I can't sit still any longer, so get up and get your coat."  
  
They grabbed their shoes and coats, and Wylan checked in with his Secret Service detail. The air was bracing cold. It nipped at their ears and faces. Jesper put one hand in his pocket; the other hand could get a little chilly on the outside, his palm pressed warmly to Wylan's. The chill calmed something in both of them. The sky, Jesper noted, was overcast, the stars hidden.  
  
"So," Wylan said.  
  
"So," Jesper agreed. "Did they really do those things?  
  
"They didn't use electroshock."  
  
The first time Wylan came back to him, there had been months between them and all either had wanted was to see the other again. Now, after just a day and some, there was a chasm between them. Jesper knew Wylan felt it, too, those gaping questions about the future.  
  
They walked half a block before Wylan said, "I'm scared, Jes."  
  
Jesper squeezed his hand. "It's going to be okay."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Well. If he's reelected, we'll hide you out in the old barn on the Miller place." Sure, for four years! Where was Jesper going, after all? He would hide Wylan and sneak out to be with him at night… okay, he knew that was absurd.  
  
Rather than poke holes in Jesper's silly plan, Wylan said, "Being here—you, Nina, Genya and David, even Kaz. You've been the best part of my life."  
  
"We want to keep you here. We're gonna do everything we can, no matter what happens. I promise."  
  
Wylan nodded. They walked around the block in silence for a while. Jesper didn't know what to say or to promise, and he hated it, because if Wylan's father decided to take him away, he could. It was funny how one person's opinion could mean so much—like his father, or a judge determining a custody case. Wylan's reaction to the votes made more sense from that perspective. 2% of the U.S. population was six and a half million people. Six and a half million people didn't see physical abuse and public humiliation of a minor as a deal-breaker.  
  
Six and a half million seemed impossibly big next to the six people in Wylan's life. Eight with Zoya and Nikolai. Nine with Agent Thor.  
  
"You don't deserve what he did."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Wylan said, less than convincing.  
  
When they returned to Zoya's place, both sighing at the sudden warmth, Nina called, "Hey!"  
  
"Hey, Nina!" Jesper called back.  
  
As they came into the living room, Kaz said, "We're at 200 votes."  
  
"Fifteen more non-California votes and we're there," Nina said, smiling at Wylan. "We're really close to seeing if we sufficiently fucked over the bastards."  
  
He returned her smile tightly. "Thanks."  
  
"Everyone knows you like math, you nerd. You locked the door, right, Jes?"  
  
Jesper went back and locked the door. "Paranoid big city girl," he grumbled as he tossed himself onto the couch.  
  
Nina shook her head. "I don't know how all you doofus hayseeds aren't murdered. You _lock_ your _doors,_ it's common sense!"  
  
Jesper rolled his eyes and was preparing a retorted when Kaz shushed them both and turned up the TV. Onscreen, a reporter announced, "...Oregon and Washington. The polls are still open in California but—"  
  
Nina screamed.  
  
Jesper punched the air.  
  
Kaz gave a satisfied nod.  
  
Wylan sank onto the couch.  
  
"Zoya!" Nina shouted. "Zoya, we won!"  
  
"Good!" Zoya shouted back.  
  
"You did it!" Nina told Wylan, giving him a thump on the back. "Way to fuck your dad!"  
  
Everyone heard that sentence. Everyone turned to face her, Wylan looking briefly pale before his face flooded red. To her credit, Nina blushed, too.  
  
"Okay, that is not what I meant to say, you all know that is not what I meant to say."  
  
"Way to be a homophobe," Jesper said.  
  
"There is way more than homophobia wrong with that statement," Nina retorted. "Farm boy."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Seriously, though, sorry, Wylan. Uh, good work, pal."  
  
Nina and Jesper were both staying sober, so celebratory champagne was out of the question. Apparently Nina felt just as celebratory as Jesper did, because she brought out chilled glass bottles of Coke and declared it wasn't a party without fizzy liquid sugar.  
  
Jesper shook his head, swigged his drink, and remarked, "Your snacking habits are weirder than David's."  
  
"No," Wylan said, "they're not."  
  
Not much later, Kaz headed home. It was his way. The election had consumed him, but now that he had the results he had hoped for, Jesper was somehow unsurprised that he simply walked off.  
  
What did surprise Jesper was that Kaz patted Wylan on the shoulder and said, "Good work."  
  
Nina, Jesper, and Wylan shifted the couch cushions and converted it to a bed. Nina had work tomorrow, and Jesper and Wylan had school, so they couldn't stay up to see just how severely Jan Van Eck and his party lost the election. There was still control of Congress and so many state level races… but they had the major victory. For now, it was enough.  
  
While Wylan was in the bathroom changing, Jesper turned out the overhead light, leaving a lamp on, and settled under the covers.  
  
Jesper hadn't mentioned to his da that this sleepover involved him sharing a bed with Wylan. They weren't going to do anything except cuddle—maybe kiss, if Wylan wasn't too tired—but he was still going to be in bed with his boyfriend. Sleeping. With his boyfriend.  
  
Wylan returned and settled under the covers. Sharing a bed was more intimate than swimming together or even making out on top of the covers. Jesper had been prepared for him to curl up on the opposite side of the bed, but Wylan snuggled against him.  
  
"Hi, Jes."  
  
"Hey, gorgeous. You okay?"  
  
Wylan nodded. "Don't wanna talk, just cuddle."  
  
Jesper grinned hugely into the darkness. "That can be arranged."


	33. Back to Normal

WYLAN

  
  
The day after the 2016 election, Wylan hadn’t seen his father at all. He had been 13 years old and consoled himself with the reminder that it wasn’t about him, his father was going to become the Vice President, his father was very busy. Sure, Wylan missed the amount of time they spent together even if it _was_ all in public, but he understood. The hollowness inside of him was just foolish emotions. He mustn’t be ruled by those.  
  
Then after that the President-elect start tweeting about voter fraud and his father was on TV telling reporters that voters found his candor refreshing. Jan promised he would have dinner with Wylan one night before Wylan had to head home, just the two of them, but somehow this time seemed almost more frenetic than the campaign itself. Eventually Wylan was sent home without more than a clap on the shoulder from his very busy, very important father.  
  
The day after the 2020 election, Wylan woke up tangled together with the kindest, smartest, handsomest boy he had ever met who somehow inexplicably liked Wylan. He resettled himself just slightly against Jesper and Jesper tightened his hold on Wylan, confirming that he was awake.  
  
“Tell me it was real,” Wylan murmured.  
  
“It was real.”  
  
Just for a moment, Wylan enjoyed that information. It was real. Whatever else happened, his father _lost_. Even if Wylan had to go back and live out the remainder of his the-short life with his monster of a father, Jan Van Eck had lost and that could never be taken back.   
  
“You crazy kids awake?” Nikolai asked.  
  
Wylan and Jesper groaned in objection.   
  
“’m awake,” Wylan mumbled.  
  
“Yeah,” Jesper agreed.  
  
“Good,” Nikolai said, “you still have school this morning and if you don’t get up soon I shall have no choice but to loose Nina on your unfortunate souls.”  
  
They responded with more mutual groaning in objection. However, even the thought of school wasn’t quite as bad today. It was different, Wylan thought, knowing that the jerks on campus were in the minority. It was different knowing that even though they were in the minority last time, this time the majority had won. Somehow even though it was only one election, it felt like progress, like maybe… maybe… things would be okay.   
  
Somehow, life just returned to normal.  
  
School wasn’t so bad. It was regular bad, maybe less than regular bad, not good or awful. School meant struggling through English and history, a delightfully complex moment of inertia problem set in physics, meetings with Miss Moore. After school meant more time with Jesper, Genya, and David. That Friday night, like every Friday night, Wylan came home from school, dropped his satchel, and went right to the kitchen to help finish up that night’s challah with Genya. It was familiar and comfortable, yet strangely mundane.  
  
Shouldn’t things feel different now? The election was over. He would sleep in tomorrow, help Genya in the shop. It felt… normal. Not bad. Just not as different as he had hoped.

"I was thinking," Wylan began. He smacked an egg carefully on the bottom of a bowl and cracked it open. A couple pieces of shell fell in, but Wylan fished them out as he said, "Could my father be an addict?"  
  
"Mm. Does he drink? Abuse medication?" Genya asked.  
  
"He abused me."  
  
"Oh, Wylan, no--"  
  
"No, listen," Wylan insisted, "it's just like with Jesper and Nina, right? They couldn't help themselves, they did bad things and they hurt people, but not on purpose. They were sick. Maybe Jan could be sick, too."  
  
He had finished whisking the egg now. He picked up the pastry brush and started brushing the egg wash over the woven dough.   
  
"If I were with him now, he would find a reason to hurt me. I know it's not my fault, but is it possible it's not his, either? Just like Jesper and Nina were really stressed out on Tuesday."  
  
"Did you see Jesper or Nina do anything inappropriate on Tuesday?"  
  
Wylan remembered many inappropriate things Nina had said on Tuesday. She tended to speak rather directly when stressed, but he knew Genya wasn't asking if Wylan heard cussing. Which was a relief, because he didn't want to lie to Genya and he didn't want to tell on anyone, and if he had seen Nina drink or anything he knew Genya would tell Zoya.  
  
He shook his head. "Nina ate about five pounds of candy, but nothing really bad."  
  
Genya put an arm around his shoulders. "Jesper and Nina used substances that impacted their minds and bodies, things that made them physically _need_ more. Jan never _needed_ to hit you. They hurt themselves. He hurt you. He's sick all right, but not that kind."  
  
Wylan nodded. He wasn't entirely sure he understood. If it wasn't his fault, why did it have to be his father's?   
  


* * *

  
  
Of course, the President didn’t take losing well. The tirades barely stopped for days, screeds about “undoing elections”, “illegal voters”, “rigged”. Wylan didn’t look. Jesper didn’t look. Nina did, and went briefly past sense, drunk on social media idiocy. Then she adopted the boys’ approach of getting as much intel as they needed from Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers. It wasn’t like any of this came as a major surprise.  
  
“Is he really like that?” Nina asked.   
  
“Nina,” Jesper objected. He gave a significant look at Wylan.  
  
They were sprawled out in Zoya’s living room. Rain lashed the windows, no doubt part of the reason for Nina’s “mood”, as she called it. She had baked pumpkin bread and made mulled cider—non-alcoholic. The house smelled of autumn and the snacks tasted delicious.  
  
Wylan shook his head. “It’s okay,” he told Jesper. Then he squeezed his hand. “But thank you. Thank you for being so good to me.”  
  
Jesper stroked his cheek. It made Wylan feel soft and warm to be touched that way. He leaned against Jesper; it wasn’t fair that when Wylan tried to show appreciation, Jesper just gave him more reasons to be appreciative. Couldn’t he just let Wylan catch up on the gratitude? A little voice in Wylan’s head told him he could never be as good to Jesper as Jesper was to him, but he tried.   
  
Nina cleared her throat. “Public setting!” she reminded them.  
  
Jesper flipped her the bird.  
  
Wylan grabbed Jesper’s hand and tugged it back. “Rude,” he objected. “Sorry, Nina. But yeah, he's like that. He’s… he’s scary, honestly.”  
  
Jesper wrapped an arm around Wylan’s waist and pulled him closer. They were already sitting together, but he squished them up against one another.   
  
“I’ll protect you.”  
  
“Jes, the Secret Service is still following me.”  
  
“Yeah, but after they go, you know, when your father isn’t VP anymore? I’ll protect you.”  
  
Wylan wanted to say that he wouldn’t need protecting. One day, one day _soon_ , he would tell Jesper the truth about cutting his head in the theater that night. He would explain how he had lied… one day. But for now, even with the twist of guilt, Wylan couldn’t deny he liked when Jesper held him like this. He kissed Jesper’s hand.   
  
“Hopefully,” Wylan said, “it’s irrelevant because we’ll never see my father again.”  
  
Hopefully. A strange and wonderful feeling. Besides, thinking about his father so much had Wylan exhausted. He was wrung out from being tied in knots over the man. Maybe, not now but maybe soon, Wylan would be live his life without thinking about Jan.

* * *

  
  
Two weeks after the election, Wylan sat in the cab of Jesper's truck, headed home from school. Jesper wasn't working today, so he could stay for a while. They could work on homework—Wylan would ensure they actually worked on homework before, well, before the stuff he blushed giddily even thinking about. It didn't matter how many hours he and Jesper had stolen making out, he still wasn't used to the idea.  
  
"So how's it going?" Jesper asked. "Therapy?"  
  
Wylan shrugged. "Okay, I guess."  
  
Genya had insisted that Wylan see someone. They drove 45 minutes each way sharing a guilty pleasure—Genya, it turned out, liked to sing showtunes at the top of her lungs and Wylan was happy to join in. That was fun and he liked sharing the time. Therapy itself was sort of like being in Miss Moore's classroom if he didn't know what he was supposed to do. For Genya, Wylan tried. He just wished he knew what he was trying to do.  
  
He had expected sympathy from Jesper, but when Jesper learned Wylan was going to see a therapist, he had said it was probably a good idea.  
  
"Have you picked your classes yet for next year?"  
  
Jesper shook his head. "Nope. I'm thinking about looking at a transfer program, just to keep my options open. If I want to go to college, it's going to take scholarships, though. It's a lot to think about. Not that there's any rush, though."  
  
"Planning to hang around and keep me company?"  
  
"It's a tough job, but someone has to do it."  
  
Wylan's phone dinged. When he saw that it was a text from Genya, he stuck in one of his earbuds and listened. He had to laugh.  
  
"Okay, this thing is _obviously_ broken," he said.  
  
"Let me see." At the next stop sign, Jesper leaned over to check. "Um… nope, that's what Genya said."  
  
"I thought she wanted me to pick up milk or something."  
  
"I dunno, is that your code? When you need to pick up milk, does she say, 'The President Elect is here to see you'?"  
  
Wylan laughed weakly. No, Genya had never texted him those words before.   
  
He pulled his satchel into his lap and twisted the strap nervously. He had to conclude she meant the words literally. That only raised further questions. What was she doing here? Had she somehow inherited the Wylan situation? Or was the weird message some sort of code telling him to… to… he didn't know.  
  
When he saw the cars parked along their street, he knew it hadn't been a code. Those were government plates, which meant the President Elect was here. Or… someone else… but Genya would have warned him if it was someone else. If it was—  
  
"It's not him," Jesper said.  
  
As Wylan unbuckled his seatbelt, he asked, "Will you come with me?"  
  
"And meet the President Elect, are you kidding?"  
  
Jesper all but jumped out of the truck. Wylan shook his head. At least one of them was looking forward to this.  
  
He appreciated the warning, but he still froze when he saw Genya having a cup of tea with the President Elect at the same table where she and Wylan went through his phoneme flashcards. Wylan had seen the President Elect plenty of times on TV, but seeing her here, she looked so… _human_. She also terrified him. Agent Matthias said he was here until the election, and in the weeks since, Wylan had been on eggshells. Was this it? Was she going to take him away?  
  
He grabbed Jesper's hand. No way. She wasn't—right? Because she wouldn't be here to do it herself. That was more of an underling's job.   
  
"Come sit down, boys," Genya said.   
  
Wylan didn't budge.  
  
"Wylan," Jesper said, placing a hand between his shoulderblades and giving him a gentle push. It was awkward, since Wylan currently had a stranglehold on Jesper's other hand.  
  
Wylan went to the table.  
  
He sat down.  
  
He leapt up again and brought a fourth cup to the table. There had been one for him. They hadn't expected Jesper.  
  
"We volunteered for you," Jesper said while Wylan was busy staring and being tongue-tied. "We knocked on doors every Saturday. I voted for you, too. He didn't."  
  
"I'm 17!" Wylan objected. Jesper made it sound like he'd voted for the other party.  
  
"He is 17," Jesper ceded.  
  
The President Elect smiled. Wylan thought she looked nice, like someone's grandmother, albeit a fierce grandmother. She looked like she really _saw_ them. Many of the politicians he knew, his father's friends, looked at him as a duty, someone to be polite to because they must. They weren't rude. They just made clear he was perfunctory.   
  
"Well, I appreciate your Saturdays. And your vote," she said. "I don't believe we've been introduced!"  
  
"Jesper Fahey," said Jesper, taking her offered handshake. He had to nudge Wylan.  
  
"Wylan." He managed the handshake okay. "But you knew that."  
  
"It's nice to meet you both. And yes, I did, but it's still nice to meet you and your friend."  
  
"Boyfriend," Wylan corrected. He knew Jesper would've let the misunderstanding slide and wasn't sure what had come over him that he could barely say his name to this woman, but wouldn't let her misinterpret his relationship with Jesper.  
  
"It's nice to meet you and your boyfriend," she amended. "You're probably wondering why I'm here."  
  
Wylan reached for Jesper's hand again. Jesper squeezed back. He hoped she wasn't here to take him away, but was filled with awareness that if he was, this was goodbye. He was glad Jesper was here for it. What if Genya hadn't warned him? What if Jesper had to work, if he had dropped Wylan at the corner and the last they had was a shared smile and promise to talk later?  
  
"I'm here because I owe you an apology."  
  
That… was not what he expected.   
  
"I greenlit my campaign's use of your name. After you disappeared, there were a lot of people looking for you. We only knew through opposition research. You were last seen running away from a conversion therapy center, you were missing and presumed dead. If I had known there was a living person whose safety was put at risk, we never would have mentioned you. I'm sorry this happened and I'm sorry for my role in it."  
  
Wylan shrugged. "It's okay," he said. "It wasn't anything unusual."  
  
Genya explained, "Wylan's still having a little trouble holding his father accountable."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Wylan looked at his tea, gave it a swirl in the cup. "Excuse me, but I don't believe you do."  
  
Because, that was the thing, he had heard her campaign speeches. He had heard her talk about her hard-working, supportive family. Wylan didn't want other kids to be raised how he was, but that didn't mean she had any idea what it felt like to be torn between hating someone for hurting you and clinging to them because they were all you had in the world. She didn't know what it was like to hold your boyfriend's hand and feel a sudden lance of fear that it was the last time because who could ever love you.  
  
"Wylan," Genya said.  
  
"No, no, it's okay. He's right. I don't understand, but I know I played a role in putting you in that situation. Is there anything I can do to make that up to you?"  
  
Wylan hesitated. He knew what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to say it was okay, that he forgave her, that it didn't matter. She had enough she needed to do to put the country back on track. Besides, she couldn't make his father's voice go quiet in his head.  
  
With a cautious look, he asked, "Anything?"  
  
"Name it. I'll see what I can do."  
  
"I want to stay here with Genya and David," Wylan said. "I don't want to go back to my father and they’re really good parents."  
  
He had the rare pride of knowing he had made the future President of the United States smile.  
  
"I should be able to arrange that."  
  
"Agent Helvar shouldn't be in trouble," he added. "He saved my life, he did his job."  
  
She nodded. "Understood."  
  
"And please try to make conversion therapy illegal. My father—please try."  
  
Her smile took a determined edge as she nodded. "I'll do what I can."  
  
"You know," Jesper said, "we're both seniors. Can we come to the White House when we graduate?" When Wylan stared at him, he shrugged. "What? When else am I going to have a chance to visit the White House?"


	34. Happily Ever After

_"…So that’s American healthcare. And I’m just as opposed to fixing it as I am to fixing my dog. But some people wanna cut off our healthcare’s balls…"_

Wylan froze, a pillowcase in his hands, and looked around like his bedroom might suddenly be crowded. It wasn’t that he thought Genya and David would care. It was more… what if they realized not just what he was listening to, but that he really wanted to laugh?! 

Then he shook his head and returned to making the bed. Genya and David either wouldn’t care or would laugh, too. 

This was one of the books Jesper and Nina insisted he had to read. Wylan had learned to use his phone to listen to audiobooks from the public library and Audible. He liked them. They were casually fun, something to entertain him during chores. Sometimes, if he woke up in the middle of the night and Jesper wasn’t answering his texts, Wylan listened to an audiobook to take his mind off… other thoughts. 

Despite a full semester’s efforts, he could read only a little and very slowly. On hopeful days in early autumn, he had looked through the school library and imagined reading the novels there. 

He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t yet. Genya would say he couldn’t yet. Jan’s voice still responded first: Wylan couldn’t read because he was lazy and chose to be stupid. But Genya’s voice was louder in his head.

Wylan was just finishing with his bed when the doorbell rang. He had watched videos to ensure he had his technique correct. He was proud of his neatly tucked covers and carefully aligned pillows. It didn’t much matter to him; Wylan could just as happily curl up in a mess of blankets. Keeping things tidy was respectful, though, especially to David who didn’t say anything but was obviously bothered by disorder. 

"Wylan, Jesper’s here!" Genya called.

Wylan darted out of his bedroom. Jesper and his father were there in the living room; Wylan’s heart gave a little flutter at the sight of Jesper and burst into color and song when Jesper spotted Wylan and grinned. He would do anything for that grin.

As they greeted each other with a tight hug, Genya laughed. "You’d think you didn’t just see each other at school!"

"With Wylan you never know, he tends to disappear," Jesper retorted. 

"You’re not funny," Wylan said. 

"If I’m not funny, why are you laughing?"

"I’m not lau—"

Wylan realized a moment too late what Jesper was going to do. He tried to squirm away, but Jesper was bigger, stronger, and aware of Wylan’s most ticklish areas. Wylan wasn’t entirely certain how it happened, only that they were shoving each other away and pulling each other close and Jesper got his arm around Wylan's shoulders and tickled Wylan’s belly until his knees were weak from laughter.

"You wouldn’t believe it," Jesper’s father remarked, "but I tried to bring him up with good manners."

"If Jesper’s meant to have good manners because he was raised right, do I get to have bad manners?" Wylan asked, half-breathless.

It was risky. He, Jesper, Nina, and Kaz still told plenty of ‘Jan Van Eck is trash’ jokes. They were honestly liberating, they eased the anxiety that name used to bring. Sometimes he worried about his father, sometimes he feared his father, but in his head that name always had power. Jokes gave some of that power back to him. Saying it here, Wylan immediately looked to Genya. Had he crossed a line? It wasn’t like not mentioning his biological father did any good when the man was on the news every night, but was that any reason to mention him more?

Genya just laughed. "That’s six months shy of a good excuse, kid. Hey. We have a guest."

Oh, right.

"Hi, Mister Fahey."

"Hi, Wylan." Colm didn’t sound like he minded. He had said that Wylan could call him Colm, but Wylan just couldn't.

Inviting the Faheys for Hanukkah had been David’s idea, although he was currently in the kitchen refusing to let anyone else help make latkes. 

Or, as Genya put it, "Tyrannosaurus David will be joining us later."

"I heard that!" David called.

"Good!" Genya retorted. 

"It’s not inherently insulting!" David called. "Tyrannosaurs were the result of 170 million years of evolution!"

"Know-it-all!"

"Also not insulting!"

Wylan grinned at Jesper. "He knows so much about dinosaurs."

It was hard not to be drawn in when David was enthusiastic about something. As luck would have it, he was enthusiastic about dinosaurs, something that awakened a long-dormant part of Wylan that had loved dinos as a kid, but forgotten.

They all settled in the living room, mindful of the 12 burning candles—one for each of the eight nights of Hanukkah plus one extra, and three because tonight was Friday. Wylan hadn’t known much about Jewish people before coming to live here; most of what he heard from his father and his father’s friends wasn’t repeatable. So he hadn’t known that the Jewish Sabbath was called Shabbat or started at sundown on Friday night. He had learned. He had seen David’s face when Genya recited a blessing and drew in the light of the candles, so deeply in love with her. He had drawn them on Shabbat as a Hanukkah gift.

Probably, he shouldn’t have been surprised when Genya brought out the picture to show Colm. There was the slightest catch in Wylan’s breathing, but Colm said the picture was fantastic—was that too much? Was he mocking? He didn’t seem to be, but then, neither had Jan…

"You could do a portrait of Jesper for him," Genya suggested.

"I’m sure he’s drawn me, but are those pictures for public consumption," Jesper said, turning Wylan’s blush up to 11. 

"Does anyone want a drink? I’m going to get a drink."

Genya shook her head. "Sorry, kid. No crossing into the territory of Tyrannosaurus David. I’ll get it for you."

Wylan would have preferred to leave the room for a moment, but he accepted this. "Thanks, Genya."

When she was gone, Jesper asked, softly, "You still aren’t—"

Wylan elbowed him in the ribs.

After Genya returned, she taught them all to play dreidl. They counted out equal amounts of chocolate coins (gelt), and everyone contributed half their coins to the pot. Then they took turns spinning the dreidl. Genya translated each side of the dreidl.

"It stands for _nes gadol hayah po_ , ‘a great miracle happened here’. The last word should be _sham_ , there, but this is an Israeli dreidl. So you spin," she demonstrated, "and this side is nun, nisht. Nothing happens."

Jesper spun a gimel, which Genya said stood for gantz, ‘whole’, and Jesper took the whole pot.

"So the game’s just over? I won?"

"No, now we all give two coins into the pot," Genya said, so they all did. 

For Wylan, the game was all right, but the really interesting part was watching other people being unable to read. He watched Jesper or Colm look at the Hebrew letter and ask Genya what it meant. As the game progressed, they would try to read it, fail, shake their heads. They laughed. He wondered if he would feel that way if he could read English letters, or if other people with dyslexia felt that way. Was it just him? Were there people who couldn’t read and didn’t care?

Wylan didn’t realize he was lost in his thoughts until Jesper nudged him and passed him the dreidl. Wylan took his turn and spun a shin, which meant everyone added a coin to the pot. 

It wasn’t long before David called them all to dinner. 

That day had been the last of the semester. Wylan’s report card would be arriving in the mail any day. He knew what it said. When he handed over his last progress report, it showed A’s in calculus, physics, and art; a B in history; and C’s in PE and English. Genya has put it on the fridge and Wylan spent days on edge, nearly leaping out of his shoes once when he thought he was alone and heard David say his name.

It had taken a difficult therapy session for Wylan, followed by an utterly humiliating family session (although David and Genya insisted they didn’t mind), for everyone to understand that Genya hadn’t put up Wylan’s progress report to humiliate him but to recognize what she saw as an accomplishment. She talked about how hard he had worked at his reading. Wylan felt himself becoming smaller and smaller. Ultimately they had all agreed that Wylan’s grades would not be displayed and that he would work on believing Genya and David when they said they were proud of him.

He couldn’t walk into the kitchen without thinking about that day, though Wylan quickly found himself distracted by Hanukkah dinner.

Latkes, it turned out, were little fried pancakes made of shredded potatoes and onions. They were golden mostly and darker at the edges, and even better than the Tyrannosaurus David jokes Genya insisted on telling. 

Wylan loved it. He loved how they called to each other when they were in different rooms, how they joked and smiled at each other. He loved how Genya just knew when David needed her, and how he might not so he just offered up compliments to her without needing an immediate reason. He loved how loud and familiar and loving they were and he loved being a part of their home.

It was Jesper who asked what Hanukkah was.

"When Israel was part of the Syrian kingdom, the Syrian leader Antiochus decided everyone in his kingdom should share a culture and worship the same gods. He sacked Jerusalem and spilled pig’s blood in the Temple," David said.

"Wow, screw that guy," Jesper said.

"Basically, yeah," David agreed. "So he made being Jewish—"

"Acting Jewish," Genya interrupted.

"Is there a difference?" Colm asked. He wasn’t arguing, just trying to understand more. Wylan wondered, too.

Genya took a drink and asked, "Are you Christian when you aren’t praying?"

"Of course."

"Because you’re a Christian man in your heart of hearts?"

"Yes."

"But that wouldn’t make it okay, would it, if Christian congregations were outlawed? If there were no Sunday services, no reading the Bible, no crucifixes? You can still live and you can still be a Christian in your heart of hearts, just never do any of those things."

"Crucifixes are Catholic," Colm said, "but your point is well taken. No, it wouldn’t be okay."

David was smiling at his wife. He loved her so much, it was written all over his face.

"Then acting Jewish was made illegal," he said. "No studying Torah, observing the Sabbath, or circumcising boys. Some Jews fled into the wilderness and were led in a guerrilla war by Judah, their army was called the Maccabees. The Maccabees fought out the Syrians. They cleaned the Temple and built a new altar, lit the menorah, and spent eight days in celebration and praising God. The miracle is that only a small amount of oil was there, but it lasted the full eight days."

"Though that was only written later in the Talmud," Genya added.

David took her hand and kissed her fingers. "I fell in love with her when I heard her arguing with the rabbi," he said. "You just ask her about Abraham sometimes."

"This again," she sighed, but she was obviously pleased. 

"I want to hear it," Wylan said.

Genya read the table, looking around at everyone before saying, "All right, my argument was, and remains, that Abraham failed God when he moved to sacrifice Isaac. God never sent Abraham another test because some things are so abhorrent they render a man unfit to serve God. Any man who would murder his son is not strong enough to truly serve Him."

Silence settled over them for a moment. Wylan had never heard it put that way. He had learned that God spared Isaac because Abraham’s faith was so perfect, but he hadn’t thought about what happened next. He wasn’t sure what he believed now, but he certainly had a lot to think about.

The one thing that really resonated, though, that hit his heart and not just his mind, was her final conclusion. Any man who would murder his son is not strong enough to truly serve Him. Jan hadn’t stated, when asked, whether or not he had faith. Was it because he didn’t? Or simply because he didn’t believe Wylan deserved an answer? 

Jan wasn’t Wylan’s father anymore. He had been then. By Genya’s reasoning, even if she didn’t say it directly, Jan was… weak. And Wylan rather liked the taste of that.

"The rabbi did not like Genya," David said.

"No, but you did, and you mattered more," she replied. 

"You argued with your rabbi?" Wylan asked.

"You’re so cool," Jesper added.

Genya’s shoulders shifted—oh, she so was pleased with herself—and she told them, "Sarah argued with God."

"So… cool…"

Wylan shoved Jesper’s shoulder. "Could you stop drooling over my mom?"

Though he had only spent a few months in high school, Wylan had seen enough TV to be familiar with the moment when someone says something silly and the entire class or cafeteria stares at them. He had done that now, and although there were only four other people in the room, it sure felt like an audience of dozens if not hundreds. 

Jesper grinned. "Stop drooling over who exactly?"

A blush crept up Wylan’s face, the kind that started slow and last ages. "My mom."

He had said it before, as practice and with his friends’ encouragement. Sometimes he referred to Genya that way. He hadn’t said it in front of her, though. He hadn’t meant to! The words just… slipped out. 

"If that’s okay," he added.

"Kid, what do you think the last six months have been?"

Wylan shrugged. "The best of my life?"

"Flatterer," Genya accused.

"I don’t apologize."

She ruffled his hair and Wylan just about melted. There were things he wasn’t ready to say. He wasn’t ready to say he loved her. But he knew what he felt.

The rest of dinner passed loudly, with a lot of laughing and good food. He had never known a holiday like it. He had never been to a Hanukkah dinner before, but that wasn’t what made it special. It was the people. No one was pretending to be what they weren’t and the most agenda anyone had to manipulate anyone else was Jesper’s efforts to obtain the last latke. There was a sort of magic in being surrounded by people who genuinely liked one another.  
  
Wylan didn’t want the night to end.

It almost felt like a response to his wish when they looked out the window and realized the snow had picked up. They could barely see to the truck parked in the driveway. 

"This wasn’t meant to hit for another day yet," David observed. "This is why I don’t care for weather."

Genya shook her head, smiling at him.

When the snowstorm only picked up, it became clear the Faheys wouldn’t be going home that night. Conditions were too dangerous to drive. Genya insisted the Faheys were more than welcome to stay, and David agreed, supporting his argument with statistics on driving in unsafe conditions. 

The couch didn’t fold out, but was comfortable enough in a pinch.

Colm looked between Wylan and Jesper. Without meaning to, Wylan shifted closer to his boyfriend. The idea of a cold night cuddled close together in bed was stirring a nervous but keen hope inside him. Still, if Colm said Jesper wasn’t to spend the night with Wylan…  
  
Genya laughed. "They may as well, they're up all night texting, anyway."  
  
"You knew?" Wylan asked, at the same time Colm said, "They what?"  
  
She just laughed. Apparently any subtlety Wylan imagined he possessed was too little to sneak anything past Genya.

"It’s a small house," she told Colm, "with thin walls. They won't be up to anything."

Wylan blushed, but Colm didn’t object to Jesper spending the night in Wylan’s room.

"’Night, kid," Genya told Wylan.

He hugged her. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of that feeling. 

"’Night… Mom."

"Give it time," she said, "you’ll get used to it."

Wylan nodded. He still hadn’t let go and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He loved when she did that. 

Jesper and Wylan retreated to his bedroom. Just being alone with him was enough to make Wylan’s breath short. Given the grin on his face, Jesper had a similar opinion. That grin…

"I, um, probably have something you can borrow…"

"But do I need to?" Jesper asked.

Wylan hadn’t realized much of his previous blush had faded, but it returned with a vengeance now.

Jesper laughed. "Don’t get too excited, I’ll keep the fun bits covered. Want me to leave so you can change?"

Wylan shook his head. "You can stay."

Obviously surprised but making no move to leave, Jesper said, "Not what you said on election night."

"Yeah, in Zoya’s living room!" Wylan retorted, pulling his shirt and sweater over his head in one go. It gave him the strange sensation of cold air hitting bare skin even as a hot self-consciousness flushed through him.  
  
"Still a long way from wearing a t-shirt in the pool!"  
  
Even here and now, insidious whispers muttered in his mind, reminded him that this was sinful, wrong, but he could feel Jesper’s attention on him and he liked it. If only the night weren't literally freezing! He hurried to pull on his pajamas.  
  
Wylan knew Jesper was teasing. Still… "That… wasn't about modesty."  
  
The realization hit after a moment and Jesper sucked in a breath. "Hell. Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"Why would I? I was surrounded by secret service, law enforcement, who knew and didn't do anything to stop it. That reinforced the idea that I deserved it. I've been talking about this in therapy."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Jesper…" Wylan reached up, hesitant, and rested butterfly-light fingertips against Jesper’s lips, reassuring himself, maybe, or trying to say something for which he did not have the words. "You were the first person in years who told me I mattered without expecting anything for it. Any praise I got from a tutor, I always knew my father paid for it, but you… you told me I was smart and talented and attractive without getting anything in return."  
  
Jesper took Wylan’s hand and pressed a kiss to his fingertips. "Except a boyfriend."  
  
Wylan smiled. "Except a boyfriend."  
  
Jesper turned his attention to the sketchbook on Wylan's desk, tracing a design on the cover with one fingertip. Wylan's breath caught. He was even shyer about his drawings than he was about his body, but he remembered their date in the hotel, when he had traded an honest answer for a sketch. Jesper hadn't laughed at him. Actually, Jesper had only kind things to say about Wylan's art. He had even said he liked the mural on the wall.  
  
Wylan swallowed. Then he stepped closer and opened the notebook. He knew which page he wanted, which picture: Jesper and Rhodri, looking so happy together, Jesper grinning and Rhodri prancing the way he did when he needed a ball thrown _right right right NOW_.  
  
"Told you you had the face of a muse," Wylan said, aiming for cocky but achieving only aspiration. Well, close enough. "Will he be okay tonight?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. He might not be thrilled but he's got plenty of food and water."  
  
"Good."  
  
"That's really me, huh? That's who you think I am?"  
  
Wylan rolled his eyes. "You mean that smiling, strong, beautiful guy? That's you, Jes. I know it's not all you are, I know you're not perfect, but it's a part of who you are and you're perfect to me."  
  
Jesper raised an eyebrow. "Therapy?" he asked.

"Therapy," Wylan confirmed. "I told her it’s hard not to recognize the signs. I can see bruises, but I don’t know if most people around me are living like I did. What if other people are living their lives with no one telling them they matter or they’re good at anything? She told me that I could do that. I could tell them."

"Oh yeah? And you’re starting with me, huh?"

"Genya and David, technically. But yeah, you too."

What Wylan didn’t mention was that it made him feel powerful that he could undo the sort of pain his father had caused him. It made him feel like he was as powerful as his father was, even without cruelty—he could be kind without being weak.

"You know my da is nothing like that, right?"

"I know," Wylan said, "but I didn’t think it would hurt to say."

"Any time you want to practice, I’m here for you."

Wylan laughed. "Thanks, Jesper. Couldn’t do it without you."

"Speaking of things not to do without me, which side of the bed do you want?"  
  
"Um, first…"  
  
"Oh, right. You want some privacy?"  
  
Wylan gave Jesper a half-puzzled look. "You want to watch me say my prayers?" To his surprise, Jesper didn’t have a ready answer. "I guess—you can, if you want. I just thought…"  
  
Jesper shrugged. "What can I say? You look cute when you’re all holy and stuff."  
  
Wylan rolled his eyes, but, only mildly self-consciously, went ahead with his prayers. He had been surprised to learn from Genya that Jewish prayers were not said in supplication, that they bowed to God but didn’t kneel. Wylan wasn’t sure what he was these days—not an evangelical, he thought, not like his father, and he did like the Methodist church. Open to new ideas, though. He was open to new ideas.  
  
When he was finished, he chose the side against the wall and scooted under the covers as Jesper stripped down to a thermal undershirt and polka dot boxers. Wylan had seen Jesper in less, but that did not stop him enjoying the show…

Until he pointedly looked away, reminding himself that this was a house with thin walls.   
  
"Also, one more thing?" Jesper asked. He scrambled into bed next to Wylan, who rolled his eyes as Jesper took out his phone—right up to the point Jesper used his free hand to half-heartedly but still effectively tickle him. Wylan should have stayed annoyed. Instead he genuinely smiled when Jesper wanted to cuddle together to send a gloating selfie to Nina.

Then Jesper switched off the light and once more crawled into bed next to Wylan. They were used to lying beside each other on the twin bed, but it felt different being under the covers in the dark. They fumbled close to each other. For a few moments, it was just them, just shivering and holding on.

"Hey Wy?"

"Hmm."

"Would you want to move out with me, in a year or two? We could go to Cedar Rapids. It’s not so far and the community college has a good art program."

The question took away more breath than Wylan knew he had. The idea of moving out with Jesper was enough on its own. It wasn’t something Wylan ever thought he could have—living independently. Living with Jesper. 

And hearing Jesper talk about art programs, like he didn’t even question that Wylan was good enough. He had done the research, Wylan realized. Jesper had thought about this enough to research community college art programs, had given serious thought to their future together.

He had talked with his therapist about his self-confidence issues. Wylan was getting better, but it was still lucky he was already lying down or the realization would have knocked him over—how much Jesper wanted him, how much Jesper valued him.

"Never mind," Jesper said, pulling away in the extra centimeters they had on the bed, "it was just an idea."

"I didn’t mean no," Wylan told him. He truly hadn’t. "It’s just—it’s a lot to think about."

Again, Jesper said, "It’s just an idea."

"It’s not bad stuff to think about," Wylan amended. "Just things I didn’t know I wanted, but I did."

"You don’t have to—"

"Be patient with me, Jesper," he interrupted. "It still surprises me to be wanted."

Jesper erased the distance between them, drawing close to Wylan again. It was all the answer Wylan needed. 

"Thanks," Wylan said. "So… what would you do in Cedar Rapids?"

"Study agriculture, maybe. Get a job at the Zoo Hill pavilion. They have petting zoo with cows and pigs and stuff, they’d be lucky to have a genuine farm boy like me."

He had to laugh. "There’s a lot of farm boys," he said, "but not like you. But what about me? What kind of jobs can someone like me do?"

"You work in Genya’s shop," Jesper reasoned, "you could do retail. A lot of people have their first job in retail."

"I sweep up."

"So you’ll find a place to sweep up. It’s not forever, just until you’re a professional artist."

Wylan wanted to say he wasn’t going to be a professional artist, but… just for now, for tonight, he wanted that to be the future. Just for tonight, maybe he didn’t need to think about all the things he couldn’t. Was it so bad, after all, spending a few years sweeping up until he could support himself as an artist? He could dream about that. He could dream about a life with his boyfriend.

"Tell me more about it," Wylan requested. "Just… that’s about you and about me. Tell me about us."

"Us, huh?"

"Of course us. We’re the best part of the story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed this fic (I assume you have since you've read 34 chapters of it).
> 
> I very much appreciate your reviews, they really make my day. One thing that stood out was how many of you commented on David. I love the inclusion of neurodivergent characters in Six of Crows, but because I intentionally included more good adults in this fic, I wanted at least one to be neurodivergent; leaning into David's canon-coded autism seemed the obvious choice. I was nervous about including that and so happy about how well it was received!
> 
> And, as ever, feel free to hit me up on tumblr (kindness-ricochets) or discord (Til#3640).


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